


Rogue and Royal

by harrylee94



Series: Bounty Hunter Obi-Wan (working title) [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Bounty Hunter, F/M, Mandalorian Civil War, Obi-Wan gives no fucks, bounty hunter!Obi-Wan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-05-27 02:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6266227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrylee94/pseuds/harrylee94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan Kenobi was known by many as the best; the perfect Jedi. But what if he'd never been discovered? What if his family had never given him to the Temple? What if a tragedy had occurred in his youth that forced him to walk a more dangerous path?<br/>Almost a decade after starting that hard life, Obi-Wan steps off a cargo ship, not knowing his life would change once again.<br/>(Set during the Mandalorian civil war. Eventual Obitine)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That could have gone a lot worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thank yous to [ProfDrLachfinger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfDrLachfinger/pseuds/ProfDrLachfinger) (you should seriously check out her stuff; it's AMAZING) for being my beta on this chapter, and my friend [Callum John](http://nerdemic.co.uk/) for helping me plot out the majority of this story arc!
> 
> I'm afraid that it's going to be difficult to update this over the next month or so, as I'm in my final few months of my final year at Uni, but I hope to have another update done soon.
> 
> Translations for Mando'a are found in the end notes.
> 
> Enjoy!

A cloud of dust billowed about, twisting and ripping through the clothes of any who were unfortunate enough to be standing near the landing platform – a temporary thing which was nothing more than a patch of flat land with red paint circling it. A choking, spluttering noise could be heard above the roar of engines, and as the air cleared, it revealed its source:

A G9 Rigger wobbled slightly as it came closer to its destination, the end of its horizontal wing missing and spewing a toxic black smoke, but it held steady, legs already lowered, and it settled with nary a bump. Slowly, its engines powered down, and the ramp lowered.

A small crowd gathered, unsure of the cargo ship’s purpose, murmuring amongst themselves as they waited for the pilot to appear. When, at last, they did, a wave of shock ran through those gathered.

The boy couldn’t have been much older than 18 standard, at most, and yet he held himself with a confidence that opposed his gangly appearance. He wore a rag-tag collection of armour (second hand from the looks of some of the pieces), a blaster strapped to his hip, and there was sign of a vibro-blade hilt peeking out from his boot. But most bizarre of all was his hair; a dirty ginger, tied away from changeling eyes with a chord. The crowd had not seen anything like it in some time.

Looking around, the boy sighed.

“Some welcome.”

As though his words had broken a spell, the crowd dissipated, leaving only a hooded figure and two guards behind.

The boy folded his arms and smirked. “The Duchess of Mandalore, I presume?”

The figure hummed and drew the hood back, revealing a young, regal woman, her pale hair set in short curls about her ears. “The Bounty Hunter, I presume?”

“Sometimes,” he stepped forward and nodded back towards the Rigger, “but for now, I’m just delivering some cargo.”

The Duchess smiled, and held out her hand. “You have my thanks…”

“Obi-Wan,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips, “My name is Obi-Wan. And it was nothing.”

The Duchess frowned. “Nothing? You mean to say that your ship is _not_ damaged because of our call for your aide?”

Obi-Wan looked over his shoulder at the smoking wing and flinched. “Yes, well, it’s nothing I won’t be able to fix or replace I’m sure.”

The Duchess smiled before turning to one of the guards with a nod. He then turned towards one of the nearby buildings – a warehouse – and brought his wrist to his mouth.

“The cargo has arrived. Repeat, the cargo has arrived.”

The young woman returned her gaze to the Rigger. “Did you have much trouble?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “A little. The blockade was a little more tight than I had anticipated, but I managed.”

“I am glad. Without you, I fear that my people would have starved.”

Several men emerged from the warehouse and made their way past the small group, entering the ship only to emerge a few moments later, large crates in hand.

Obi-Wan sighed again. “If only there were no need for this.”

“Excuse me?”

He turned to face the young woman again, a solemn smile replacing the roguish smirk from before. “To use the people one wants to rule some day as a weapon against the one you wish to overthrow… it’s barbaric.”

The Duchess looked shocked. “My, you are a surprise! A Bounty Hunter and a philosopher!”

He looked away. “No. It’s just logic. It shows they don’t truly care for the people, and it loses them support.”

She nodded. “And that is how I know I cannot lose this war. I will not let my people suffer, nor will I let them be ruled by those who will not listen to their cries.”

“But the longer you wait, the more they _do_ suffer. It’s a complicated dilemma, no?”

The Duchess made to reply, but a shout rose from behind the warehouse the supplies were being deposited in.

“Stop her!”

“La ganar chakur baar’ur srubiva!*”

“Chakaar!*”

In an instant, Obi-Wan sprang into action, pulling his blaster from its holster even as he ran towards the source of the commotion. He paid no attention to the Duchess’s cries behind him.

As he rounded the corner behind the building, he caught sight of a middle-aged woman running down the road, a large bag strapped to her back. The workers, who were still shouting about her act, stood by the warehouse, no doubt unwilling to leave it in case others had the same idea as the woman.

Quickly pushing past them, Obi-Wan took aim, and fired.

“No!”

The Duchess shoved his arm to the side, but it was already too late, and his aim was true.

A moment later, the woman fell to the ground in a nerveless heap.

The Duchess froze in shock, hands clasped over her mouth as members of the public began to gather. Once again, the Bounty Hunter ignored her, and he made his way over to the fallen woman, his long strides making swift work of the distance between him and his goal. By the time she had recovered, his pistol had been holstered and he was already pulling the bag onto his own back.

“You… you _monster_!” she cried, racing towards the boy, “How _could_ you?!”

“It was necessary.”

“ _Necessary_?! She was probably an innocent woman, trying to help her friends or… or family!”

“And I’m sure she will,” he continued, carefully lifting the woman into his arms, “after she wakes up.”

“After she… what?”

Obi-Wan smirked. “You didn’t think I’d killed her, did you?”

The Duchess stared at him. “But… you… she…”

“I stunned her,” he explained, eyes softening as they lowered to the woman’s face, “she’ll probably be up and about again in about half an hour.” He returned his gaze to the Duchess. “We should probably get the supplies back to where they belong.”

“Uhm, yes, of course.” Her cheeks blushed, and she tried to look anywhere but at the boy, making a hasty retreat. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but chuckle as he followed close behind.

The walk back towards the warehouse was made in silence, and the wary gazes of the public followed them every step of the way. Looking around, Obi-Wan could see a lot of hostility in their eyes, and not all of them were watching him.

“How many people speak basic here?”

The Duchess paused, turning back to face him. “Basic? I doubt more than thirty percent of the people in this area speak it fluently.”

The Bounty Hunter groaned. “Then they probably don’t know that she’s not dead.”

“What?” The Duchess looked around, the confusion on her face soon replaced with horror. “Oh.”

Several of the figures were beginning to close in, long poles and other make-shift weapons in hand.

The Duchess turned to them, hands raised in a placating manner. “Gedet’ye, la ganar va cuyir kateyita. Temya’r gar besbe’trayce.*”

One of the men, his fist closed tightly around what looked like the antennae of a vaporator, snorted. “Jehaat. Mhi haa’taylir meg ibic gemagolka ganar narir.*”

“What did he say?” Obi-Wan asked, becoming increasingly uncomfortable at the proximity between him and multiple blunt weapons.

“He said that he doesn’t believe me,” the Duchess replied.

“I thought he might have.”

Eyes darting from face to face, he quickly made a decision.

“I need you to take my blaster.”

“What?”

“My blaster. I need you to take it. And the vibro-blade in my boot, take that too.”

“Why?”

The man waved the antennae in the air. It was still a few feet away, but Obi-Wan could feel the air it made moving past his cheek. “Meg cuyir kaysh sirbur? Garay at dajunar at kuryida mhi an?*”

“Duchess, you take them now or this is going to turn into a blood-bath.”

“But I-“

The man and his compatriots took another step closer.

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and sunk his heels into the ground, fingers twitching as he kept himself from reacting to the threat. “Duchess. Do it now.”

She hesitated a moment longer, but then he could feel his pistol slip from his hip and fingers clutching at his leg as she searched for the blade. The rabble watched carefully as he was disarmed, stopping in their advance, but still wary.

“Meg mruskr cuyir ibic?*” the man asked, his arm lowering little.

“Nayc mruskr.” The Duchess slowly placed the weapons on the ground before returning to an upright position. “Kaysh tid'ica nayc kateyita. La cuyir vahu'lgie, va kyrayc.*”

“Where are your guards?”

“I told them not to intervene should something happen.”

Obi-Wan shot her a look of disbelief. “You really don’t understand the point of body guards, do you.”

She huffed, but didn’t stop looking at the man before her. “Ni dinu gar ner miit, asas Dehi'r be Manda'yaim, asas a vod be adate, ibac va'io malyasa'yr cuyir kateyita.*”

The man considered it for a moment with a frown. “La cuyir oyayc?*”

“La cuyir.*”

The man looked around at the others, who all seemed to nod in agreement. “Rala ni haa’taylir.*”

The Duchess turned to Obi-Wan. “He wants to check that she’s alive.”

The Bounty hunter took a deep breath and nodded at the man, who returned the gesture.

Keeping hold of the antennae, the man approached, keeping a wary eye on Obi-Wan, even as he reached for the woman’s wrist. He held her pulse point for a few moments before moving his hand over her mouth. With a satisfied nod, he stepped back and bowed.

“Ni eparavur takisit, tyra'de. Akaan ganar gotal'ur mhi an aya’ye.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “Uh…”

The Duchess smirked. “He says that he is sorry, and that war has made us all wary.”

“War makes animals of us all,” he murmured, before raising his voice. “There is nothing to forgive. No harm was done, and the way I acted was suspicious. It should be _I_ asking for _your_ forgiveness.” With his last words, how bowed his head.

The Duchess quickly translated, and the crowd began to speak amongst themselves again. This time, however, the looks they gave him spoke more of respect than hostility. The man simply grinned and slapped him on the arm before walking away as everyone returned to what they had been doing before.

Letting out a deep breath, Obi-Wan turned back to the Duchess. “That could have gone a lot worse.”

With a shake of her head, she quickly retrieved his weapons and continued to walk back to the warehouse, where her guards were waiting. Obi-Wan eyed them as he stepped past and into the busy interior, but remained silent.

The Duchess led him through a door to the side, down a corridor, and into a small room. There was a bed pushed up against the wall, a desk, and a few datapads scattered over its surface, but otherwise it was bare. Before she could say a word, he was gently laying the woman down, placing her safely on the mattress.

As he stood, she held out the blaster and vibro-blade. Obi-Wan simply looked at them, and shook his head.

“I think it would be better if you kept those,” he said, his voice soft, yet firm.

The Duchess frowned. “Why?”

“Well, if what I’ve seen today is any indication of what your guard is like, then you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

She scoffed in indignation. “You know nothing of my guard. They are the finest men I know.”

“Oh really?” he crossed his arms, “Then why didn’t they help us earlier? Why haven’t they followed you? Are they really so naïve as to trust every bounty hunter that offers them food? And stars, why are there only two of them?”

The Duchess looked back through the open door, finding the corridor empty, and flinched. “The war has been-”

“That is utter druk!” he hissed, “You should be their number one priority, and they’re taking a back-seat in the most important job in the whole of the war!” He pointed in the vague direction of the landing sight. “There should have been at _least_ four guards stood with you when I arrived, snipers stationed on the surrounding roofs, and at _least_ a platoon of your most highly trained soldiers standing by. This was a botch job, and you know it.” He lowered his arm. “You’re lucky it was me who took the job, and not some other low-life who would have taken you for the bounty on your pretty head the moment they saw you.”

The Duchess’s eyes narrowed, but she remained silent for a few moments, gritting her teeth. With a huff, she tucked the blaster into her belt, though the blade remained in her hand. “You seem to know a lot about this sort of thing, even if your manners are a little lacking.”

Obi-Wan relaxed a little, a smirk beginning to form at the corner of his lips. “Protection job, two years back. I wasn’t going to get paid if I didn’t do my job right, was I?”

“And how much was that job?”

The smirk bloomed as one of his eyebrows rose. “Are you propositioning me?”

The Duchess folded her arms. “What if I was?”

“I would say that I didn’t take contracts from people I don’t know the names of.”

The Duchess pursed her lips, then tucked her hands behind her back, he back straightening and her head rising. Obi-Wan had to admit that she made a proud figure.

“My name, is Satine Kryze, but you would do well never to call me that in public.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Satine, but I’m afraid any business propositions are going to have to wait. I have something more important to attend to.” And with that, he hefted the bag on his shoulder and left the room, leaving the Duchess to fume quietly next to an unconscious woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * La ganar chakur baar’ur srubiva! – She has stolen the medical supplies!  
> * Chakaar! – Thief!  
> * Gedet’ye, la ganar va cuyir kateyita. Temya’r gar besbe’trayce. – Please, she has not been harmed. Stay your weapons.  
> * Jehaat. Mhi haa’taylir meg ibic gemagolka ganar narir – Lies. We saw what this monster has done.  
> * Meg cuyir kaysh sirbur? Garay at dajunar at kuryida mhi an? – What is he saying? Does to plot to murder us all?  
> * Meg mruskr cuyir ibic? – What deception is this?  
> * Nayc mruskr. Kaysh tid'ica nayc kateyita. La cuyir vahu'lgie, va kyrayc. – No deception. He means no harm. She is unconscious, not dead.  
> * Ni dinu gar ner miit, asas Dehi'r be Manda'yaim, asas a vod be adate, ibac va'io malyasa'yr cuyir kateyita. – I give you my word, as the Duchess of Mandalore, as a sister of the people, that no one will be harmed.  
> * La cuyir oyayc? – She is alive?  
> * La cuyir. – She is.  
> * Rala ni haa’taylir. – Let me see.  
> * Ni eparavur takisit, tyra'de. Akaan ganar gotal'ur mhi an aya’ye. – I apologise, stranger. War has made us all wary.


	2. Security is not a Body Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan is introduced to his new (if temporary) home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Mando'a in this chapter.  
> This one was a lot of fun to write (but then, it's always fun to write Obi-Wan). I have to admit I have a few chapters done now, but I don't want to post them all at once.  
> Thanks again to [Callum John](http://nerdemic.co.uk/) for helping me out with the plot and proof reading for me, and [Obitine-Trash](http://obitine-trash.tumblr.com/) for giving it a quick look!

“A body guard?”

Satine huffed. “Head of security.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” Obi-Wan asked, one of his eyebrows rising.

“The head of security is _not_ a body guard.”

He scoffed. “It’s the same job with a different name.”

The Duchess sighed, her hands dropping to her hips. “You’re just trying to be difficult.”

“No, I’m _trying_ to explain that I don’t need a title. Especially one that someone else already has.”

“And yet you are perfectly happy to perform the same duties they do.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “People can be awfully protective when it comes to titles. It gives them an illusion of power. Taking someone else’s title makes enemies just as much as taking their power.”

Satine paused, tilting her head in thought. “I would hope that my people were not so shallow.”

“Greed is a currency that most sentient beings bend to. I’d rather not risk it.”

With a worn sigh, the Duchess nodded. “As much as I am loathe to admit it, you have a point.”

Obi-Wan grinned in victory, only making her scowl in return. With nary a word, she inclined her head and turned towards the room’s grand double doors.

“Come. I have something I wish to show you.”

Frowning, the Bounty Hunter followed beside his new employer as she slowly made her way out of the room. To his immense relief, they were soon joined by three guards, who walked in position and to attention.

He kept his hand away from the blaster at his waist (one of the back-ups he’d kept on his ship) as they walked down the corridors to show his respect to the guards, though his hand flexed occasionally at sudden noises.

Since the exciting debacle at the landing sight, Obi-Wan had accompanied Duchess Satine back to the planet’s capital, Sundari, on a ridiculously open land-speeder (yet another thing that he had complained about as soon as he’d spotted it). The journey was, thankfully, uneventful, as was their arrival at a large, though somewhat unremarkable, building some distance away from what he assumed had once been the palace.

The palace, he was told, had once stood tall and proud; a crystal and steel cathedral within the confines of a once green garden. Now, it was clear that a previous attack had caused the roof to collapse, along with the majority of one of the wings. The gardens were scorched, and only the skeletons of trees remained.

Their destination was in much better shape, though not nearly as lavish. The building – the home of one of the Duchess’s court, generously offered for her use – was made of a similar material, but was much more box-like in shape, and with fewer windows. However, though this was a little relief, Obi-Wan was still on high alert, eyes constantly scanning his surroundings.

If he’d been hired to kill Satine (and if he’d been the kind of man to take the job), how would he do it? What vantage points did the building offer? What about opposing buildings? What was the ventilation like? Were there secret passageways? Was it even possible to have secret passageways in crystal buildings? What room sat above and below the temporary throne room? The council room? The private chambers? What was the guard rotation? How many guards were there per floor?

Hundreds of questions spilled through his mind in moments, but there had been no time to answer all of them yet. Instead, the Duchess of Mandalore had brought him to a private room, and offered him the temporary role of secondary Head of Security and advisor. He had been completely baffled at first, knowing that he had far from shown her the appropriate skillset for such a job, but he was beginning to understand how completely inexperienced the Duchess was.

He doubted she was much older than him, and unless you were on Naboo, seventeen was an extremely young age to begin such a political career. It was just horrible luck that the uprising had started so soon.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Satine said as they approached a somewhat small and unobtrusive door, “but if you are going to be my… body guard,” she sent him an annoyed look that made him grin, “then you are going to have to at least _look_ the part.”

Stepping through the door, Obi-Wan found himself standing in what was undoubtedly a barracks.

Rifles were stacked against the wall next to a locked cabinet that certainly held their charges and explosive rounds, there were several shelves where helmets sat, awaiting their owners, and dark, metallic grey plated armour, identical to that of the guards stood beside them. There were also several shields stacked to one side, along with what looked like batons. These seemed to be a lot more worn than the blasters; a bit of a frightening prospect.

Obi-Wan was hesitant to comply.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Satine gave him a _look_ , and it was one that made _him_ look.

He didn’t really see anything wrong with what he was wearing per-se; it was all practical, useful, and easy to move in… but it was scruffy, some pieces should have been replaced at least a few months before, andit was definitely _not_ Mandalorian armour.

“… Stupid question.”

She hummed in agreement.

He examined the armour again, noting the difference between the curves of the guard’s helmet and its exposed mouth, and the sharp edges of the warrior’s anonymous face. It was a subtle, yet powerful, message; that she cared about the individual behind the mask.

The armour itself was more streamlined, more fitting, that what he was used to.

His armour was a miss-match collage of pieces he’d managed to buy over the years. His bounties (or wages, as he preferred to think of them) were usually spent on things such as food, transportation, and medical supplies. His blasters were always kept in top condition, of course, but his armour had seen damage that he could not repair, and finding good replacements was difficult.

And he would not disrespect the dead by stealing from them.

This armour was almost new, no more than a year old at most, and he doubted that anyone else had worn it before. It looked durable, comfortable, and flexible, covered all the most vulnerable places on the chest, and had a decent number of hiding places.

It would certainly be a step up from the clunky pieces he was currently using.

“Would you prefer I dress now, or later?” he asked, glancing at the Duchess out of the corner of his eye, catching yet another blush before she turned away.

“Later would be fine,” she replied, her voice rising ever so slightly in embarrassment, “I will send someone with the appropriate equipment when you are settled.”

Obi-Wan grinned, pleased he could garner such a reaction from his employer. “Of course.”

Without looking at him, the Duchess nodded and strode out of the room, leaving him to follow behind.

He could feel the stares of the guards on his neck, and made a note to be more careful when it came to his interactions with Satine while in company. He didn’t want anyone getting any unwanted ideas. Nor did he want a target painted on his back. It would be much more difficult to do his job if he were looking over his shoulder all the time.

At some point, the Duchess had slowed down enough so that Obi-Wan could walk beside her again, though he made sure he was at least a step behind her this time. They made their way through the halls in silence for a while, nothing disturbing it but the heavy footsteps of the guards (something else he would have to address at some point), but then Satine coughed.

“I realise that there is probably a lot to do,” she said, bowing her head slightly, “I’m afraid most of the guard, along with the previous head of security, left to join the uprising a few weeks before you arrived.”

Obi-Wan bit his tongue to keep himself from swearing.

It was a relief to know that someone had been smart enough to move to a place less well known than the palace itself, but still, having so many trained guardsmen – warriors – who knew do much about the Duchess and the inner workings of her court could only breed trouble.

“I see.”

She sent him a worried look, noting his clipped tone. “I understand that this poses a great threat, but we have been running on low resources and man power. I hope you understand.”

Obi-Wan nodded, and hummed in affirmation. It certainly explained a few things, though it didn’t excuse some. Now was not the time to criticise though, and he didn’t want to anger the guards behind him any more than he, no doubt, already had just by being there.

It wasn’t long before they approached yet another door, the third in a line of almost a dozen along one wall, all equally spaced and innocuous. Once it had slid open, Satine motioned for the guards to remain in the hallway, and she led Obi-Wan inside.

It was a set of living quarters; not small, but also not overly large, with a double bed and chest of drawers set against the wall opposite a small kitchenette. There was a door to the right of the entrance which led to a personal fresher, and another to the left, a closet. There was a desk, with a simple holonet screen, and a few comfortable chairs surrounding a coffee table set in front of a large, glass door, which led to a balcony. The air surrounding the balcony shimmered slightly, revealing the shielding that was in place.

“I hope this will do,” Satine said as she looked around, “This was all a little short notice, so it’s the best I could manage.”

Obi-Wan blinked. “I’m sorry?”

The Duchess frowned at him, perplexed at his confusion. “The room.”

“What about it?” he asked, his own expression mirroring the woman’s.

“Is it to your liking?”

“Well, yes, I suppose it…” he began, but froze as an odd thought crossed his mind. “This… This is for _me_?”

“Of course.”

It was probably the way she said it – as though it were the most obvious thing in the galaxy – but Obi-Wan suddenly felt ridiculously overwhelmed.

His own room. She was giving him his own room. A place to stay. A place to settle; to call his own.

“I…” He looked around again, examining each object in a new light.

A bed. A beautiful, fresh mattress with clean sheets and plump pillows. A fresher. An actual shower, not sonics, and walls free of nameless stains and graffiti. A closet. Drawers. Places to store clothing, clothing he had never had the luxury to own. A balcony. A place to relax, to think, to finally be himself.

“Obi-Wan?”

Drawing a hand over his mouth, the young man realised he had been crying, he cheeks wet with tears. “I’m… excuse me.” He turned away, not wanting to show any weakness in front of his employer.

“Are you alright, Obi-Wan?”

He had to grit his teeth to keep more tears from falling at the concern in her voice. It had been too long since someone had cared enough to ask him that, and it had been some time since he thought anyone would show him such care, but he had to push it aside. He had a job to do now. These kinds of emotions would only hinder him if he kept reacting in such a way.

Wiping his face, Obi-Wan took a deep breath and turned back, pasting a smirk on his face. “Of course. It’s a wonderful room, thank you.”

Satine regarded him with suspicion for a moment before nodding slowly. “You’re welcome. There is a com system by the door, so if you need anything, feel free to ask. The code to the room will be in the top drawer, there,” she pointed towards the drawers, “and I will see to it that you get your clothes before dinner, for which I insist you join me, at least for today.”

“And what about my ship?”

She smiled softly. “It will be transported to the hanger at the palace. I’m afraid there isn’t anywhere closer for it to go, so you will have to retrieve any personal belongings tomorrow.”

He nodded. “That’s perfectly fine.”

She returned the nod and walked past him to the open door, where the guards stood waiting. “I shall leave you to your own devices for now then. Until dinner, Obi-Wan.”

“Until dinner.”

And with the quiet sigh of the door, she was gone.

Obi-Wan stared at the door for a few moments before turning back to the room. It took him a few minutes, but he soon settled himself on the edge of the bed, and allowed the strangeness of the past day to engulf him.


	3. Kuryida'yr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been weeks since Obi-Wan took on his new job, and at last, he is called to duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to publish this chapter early, seeing as it's Ewan McGregor's birthday today. Thought you'd like a little something to celebrate.  
> Thanks once again to [Callum John](http://nerdemic.co.uk/) for all the help. This chapter is unbetad, but I'm pretty happy with it anyway.  
> Just a quick note; I'm using the [Galactic Standard Calendar](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Galactic_Standard_Calendar) here, which is 5 days in a week, 7 weeks in a month, 10 months in a year (and a few other fiddly bits).  
> A fair amount of Mando'a in this one, just to warn you. Translations are in the end notes.

It had been three weeks since the Duchess had hired Obi-Wan as her ‘Body Guard’. Fifteen days of planning, investigating and training, and all of it seemed to have gotten him nowhere.

Standing on the stage where Satine was to make her speech to the people, he could see the thinly veiled looks of distain the other guards sent his way on occasion, and he could see the citizens within the crowd peering at each of the armour clad figures with calculating eyes, trying to figure out which one he was.

He knew that being a Bounty Hunter would cause problems, but to be all but ostracised by the people he was supposed to be helping was taking it a step too far.

It had all started with that blasted dinner.

He’d worn the new armour the Duchess had promised him, and he had to admit, it was very comfortable, if a little _too_ new for his liking. A servant, a young man who refused to address him as anything other than ‘sir’, had led him to a small dining room, where the Duchess was already waiting, along with a woman, who also wore the guard’s armour, and a man of about forty years; Captain Ayora Set and Borri Talis, he soon learned.

He’d been introduced, at first, as a new advisor and body guard, and while that seemed to satisfy them for a while, as always happens at dinners, small-talk arose.

_“Have you been on Mandalore long, Obi-Wan?” Borri had asked in-between courses._

_The Bounty Hunter shook his head. “I arrived a few hours ago. I transported supplies through the blockade.”_

_“And now you are advisor to the Duchess of Mandalore!” Set exclaimed with mock awe, “My, how you’ve risen.”_

_“Ayora!” Satine hissed._

_The Head of Security looked far from apologetic. “Excuse me, your grace, but I cannot sit by while you hire a complete stranger in the task of your protection!”_

_“Ayora, please-”_

_“I completely understand your position, Captain,” Obi-Wan interrupted, hoping to alleviate some of the tension that had arisen with his presence, “If you have any questions, I will do my best to answer them.”_

_Set considered him for a moment before sitting back and folding her arms. “What kind of man only has one name?”_

_He stared back at her. “One who feels he has lost any right to a family.”_

_He heard a feminine gasp from beside him, but refused to look away from the Captain’s cold eyes._

_“Who are you, Obi-Wan? If that’s even your real name.”_

_With a smirk, he tilted his head and said the words that would destroy any respect the woman had for him; “For now, I am a man who has been hired to protect your Duchess. I have previous experience in tasks such as this, but let’s not beat around the bush. You don’t what to know_ who _I am, but_ what _I am, and what I am is a Bounty Hunter.”_

To say the dinner had been chaos after that would be putting it lightly. The Captain had immediately drawn a weapon in him, and Borri had been half way to the door to call the guards by the time Satine had shouted for them to stop. She had tried to explain her reasons to the both of them and show them that he was an honourable man, but they would not be swayed.

Bounty Hunters were honourless, cowardly creatures who tricked and swindled their way through life. Obi-Wan had probably acted the way he did at the warehouse so he could infiltrate her household and find the perfect moment to assassinate her. He’d almost burst out laughing at such an insult to his intelligence, but common sense stayed his tongue.

He left the dinner early, returning to his room without his guide.

At least he’d slept well that night.

Since that day, he’d been hounded in his duties at every step. In order to look at the building’s blueprints, he had to ask permission of Borri, who refused to grant him access. So, he tried to map out the building himself, but he was constantly followed by guards who _should_ have been doing other things – _like protecting the Duchess_ – and was denied access to a number of areas. He tried to train, to practice his sharpshooting, but his weapons had been confiscated and replaced with a baton. Even when he tried to practise with that, no one would spar with him, and there was only so far you could go with air and a wall.

No one – _no one_ – barring the Duchess spoke to him of their own will, and when they were forced to, he was only ever addressed as ‘Bounty Hunter’. Even the servant had refused to call him ‘sir’ after that first day, and he was pretty sure that his occupation had made it into the regular rumour mills, so, of course, everyone knew.

So much for keeping a target off his back.

He spoke to Satine about the larger problems he found (the lack of a training program for new recruits, the sporadic patrols, the lack of on-person blasters), and these problems were looked into, but the process is deliberately slow and incompetently completed, if at all. He could almost say that their problems were even _worse_ because of it.

Everyone spent more time worrying about him than they do about actual threats.

However, towards the end of the second week, there was an aerial raid. An entire block of buildings was raised to the ground, leaving over two hundred men, women and children dead. A few days later, there was another. A further three hundred and fifty joined them in the afterlife.

This shook Satine to the core. Obi-Wan could see it in her face; from the pallor of her skin to the utter sorrow in her pale eyes. And yet she continued to stand tall, to rebuke the attack as an act of barbarism, and a new banner to stand behind, to rally her people into a united front against the insurgency.

That was why they were stood here today, out in the open, in the middle of a public area; one of the most perfect sniper spots he had ever seen.

The crowd had been allowed to come right up to the stage, and buildings loomed over them, windows from every angle offering an unobstructed view of the podium.

If something _didn’t_ happen, Obi-Wan would eat his boots.

For the third time in as many minutes, he fought the urge to shift nervously; he always got like this when he knew something was going to go wrong, but there had been enough past mistakes in his life for him to know when to act on it. He didn’t know _what_ it was, but he could feel it in his gut, so he remained calm and ready, thankful for the shield he had been provided with.

Not for the first time, he cursed the lack of a blaster at his side.

Obi-Wan cast his eye once more at the door through which the Duchess would emerge for her moment, only to notice the guards on either side straighten suddenly.

Seconds later, the door slid open, revealing the Duchess in all her finery – a flowery head-dress and flowing, light blue dress. She stood tall, proud and firm, much as she had the first day he’d met her, and he had to stifle a grin at the memory. The crowd immediately began to cheer at her presence, and he could truly see, for the first time, how loved she was by her people.

As she all but floated to her pedestal, Obi-Wan kept an eye on the crowds, but to his surprise, they all seemed content to remain where they were. He would have lingered on the thought, but the buildings loomed, and he had a job to do.

Satine, now at the podium, raised her hands, and silence reigned.

“Adate be Manda'yaim. Ner vode,” she said, her voice echoing across her people, “Mhi ganar cuyir tarba a hra'ne katpelyagr. At ganar echoy'la miuk de o'r bid skotah a ca'nara, cuyir naas katkta ui a mradanir. Ni aalar sarnr be solus bal anay runi bavat val cuyir ner srukre agol bal tal,*” she held her hand over her breast, eyes watering, as were several members of the audience.

Obi-Wan made a mental note to learn Mando’a, or at least get a translation of the Duchess’s speech at a later date.

“Cad olyay nayc dema o'r ner tkiriyr, ibac ibic cuyir a dakajr, ta'na de nimata'yr tsad*-”

“Kuryida'yr!*” Someone in the crowd shouted – a woman – and several others cheered. Obi-Wan’s hand fell instinctively to the baton at his waste.

Satine raised her hands again. “A dakajr a’na de nimata'yr tsad at gayiylir chaab bal katasr e'yar mhi!*”

Immediately, the cheering subsided, replaced by looks of shock and guilt.

“Val tid'ica at shukur mhi, at gotal'ur mhi emuurir etid, at athu'neha butar bal sarcuryr at cuun kar'ta. A mhi cuyir dral,” the Duchess continued, her voice soft, yet powerful, “Ni urmankalar o'r an be gar, solus bal anay solus be gar, ner vode, bal Ni kar'taylir ibac tome-*”

Suddenly, Obi-Wan felt something stir in the air, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Something that made him sprint the gap between himself and the Duchess and tackle her to the ground, shield raised high, as a blaster bolt burned through the air she had occupied only nanoseconds before.

Chaos erupted around them; the crowd was running around, frantically looking for shelter from the hidden assassin, the guards were equally baffled at what to do, wandering about the stage in an unorganised mess, and a second blaster shot ricocheted off of Obi-Wan’s shield as he used it to cover Satine’s head and body, using his own to further protect her.

She was stunned, he could see that clearly, her pale blue eyes darting around as she tried to process what was happening. When a third shot pinged off the shield, she focused those eyes on his.

“Obi-Wan?”

“Are you hurt, Duchess?” he replied. Now was not the time for trivialities.

“I… no.”

“Good.” Without moving his body, he looked towards the rest of the guard and found a familiar figure amongst them. “Captain!”

The woman in question, whom had been staring at the surrounding buildings, turned towards them, her baton in hand and ready (not that it would do her any good).

“We need a defensive shield around the Duchess,” he instructed, “she must be moved to safety. Now.”

Set stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “Lirsa! Cabuor Dehi’r!*”

Instantly, the aimless men surrounded them, shields held in tight formation, creating an almost impenetrable barrier between them and the assassin, but not perfect. As Obi-Wan pulled himself from under his own shield, another shot sliced through a gap in the wall, and it sliced past his arm, just clipping the skin. He hissed slightly, but ignored it, quickly standing.

Now he knew which direction the attack was coming from, he helped the Duchess to her feet, keeping her covered all the while. When at last she was standing, he gave a nod to the Captain.

“Nari!*”

Slowly, steadily, they made their way to the door Satine had exited not five minutes before. In half that time, they had both entered and exited the building, and were rushing through the air on a close-roofed speeder (at least they’d gotten _that_ right) with an escort.

Though he was still on high alert, Obi-Wan allowed himself to relax a little, knowing the other guards were _finally_ doing their jobs. He should have known it would have taken an actual crisis for them to get their shit together, but he’d had a lingering hope that they weren’t all completely useless.

It took half an hour of detours, circuits and long, confusing routes for any of them to feel comfortable enough to return to Borri’s home, and even then, they continued to proceed with an air of caution, checking rooms, along with the ones directly above and below (at Obi-Wan’s suggestion) before entering. When at last they were safely within the most well-guarded room in the building, it had been almost an hour since the attempted assassination.

“Your Grace!” Borri was saying, frantically fussing over the young woman, “Are you hurt? Did the assassin harm you? Are you alright? Is there anything I can do?”

Satine waved him off with a smile. “I am quite alright, Borri. Just a few bruises is all.” She sent a playful glare at Obi-Wan at this point, but he only smirked in return before removing his helmet. “There’s no need to fuss.”

“But, your Grace-”

“Captain Ayora,” Satine interrupted, turning to face the woman in question, “might I thank you for acting as quickly as you did. Had you not, I fear I would not be here.”

The Captain, whom had also removed her helmet, bowed, but when she raised her head, her eyes remained directed towards the ground. “Thank you, your Grace, but it is not I who needs thanking. I don’t think I would have acted had it not been for… Obi-Wan.”

Satine smiled at the confession and nodded, even as Borris gasped.

“The Bounty Hunter? Surely-”

“Silence, Borri,” the Duchess interjected, once again, “The Captain is right.” She motioned for Obi-Wan to approach.

Tucking his helmet under his arm, he made to stand next to Set and bowed. “My lady?”

“It seems I owe you thanks once again.”

He shrugged. “I was doing my job, my lady.”

“That may be so, but still, I thank you.” Her eyes fell to his arm for a moment before returning to his face. “See to that wound of yours Obi-Wan. I should hate for any of my employees to be neglecting their health.”

“Yes, my lady,” he answered with a grin, before bowing and turning away.

As he made to collect his shield, he noticed a few of the other guards were watching him. When he turned to meet their stares, he was surprised to find respect, and even pride, seeping into their gazes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Adate be Manda'yaim. Ner vode. Mhi ganar cuyir tarba a hra'ne katpelyagr. At ganar echoy'la miuk de o'r bid skotah a ca'nara, cuyir naas katkta ui a mradanir. Ni aalar sarnr be solus bal anay runi bavat val cuyir ner srukre agol bal tal. – People of Mandalore. My brothers/sisters. We have been served a great injustice. To have lost so many in so short a time, is nothing less than a tragedy. I feel the loss of each and every soul as if they were my own flesh and blood.  
> * Cad olyay nayc dema o'r ner tkiriyr, ibac ibic cuyir a dakajr, ta'na de nimata'yr tsad. – There is no doubt in my mind, that this was a message, sent by the insurgent group.  
> * Kuryida'yr! – Murderers!  
> * A dakajr a’na de nimata'yr tsad at gayiylir chaab bal katasr e'yar mhi! – A message sent by the insurgent group to spread fear and hatred amongst us!  
> * Val tid'ica at shukur mhi, at gotal'ur mhi emuurir etid, at athu'neha butar bal sarcuryr at cuun kar'ta. A mhi cuyir dral. Ni urmankalar o'r an be gar, solus bal anay solus be gar, ner vode, bal Ni kar'taylir ibac tome – They mean to break us, to make us like them, to bring anger and violence to our hearts. But we are strong. I believe in all of you, each and every one of you, my brothers/sister, and I know that together-  
> * Lirsa! Cabuor Dehi’r! – Shields! Protect the Duchess!  
> * Nari! – Move!


	4. Cin Vhetin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan is just trying to do his job, but some people just won't let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit shorter than usual, but it didn't want to be any longer than it is, plus my final deadlines are coming up for University (wish me luck)!  
> Once again a HUGE thank you to [Callum John](http://nerdemic.co.uk/) for helping me out with the plot itself, and to [poplitealqueen (Isimun)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Isimun) for beta reading (you have to check out her stuff guys, it's so addicting) and [Gem_Gem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem) for helping me keep up the momentum (also damn amazing stories, check her stuff out)!  
> Mando'a translations at the end, as always (some of which I got [here](http://www.imperialshipyards.net/SMF/index.php?topic=1531.5;wap2) if you want a look).

“Tracyur.”

“Tracy’uur.”

“Tracy… uur.”

“Again.”

“Tracy’uur.”

“Again.”

“Tracy’uur.”

Captain Set nodded with a smile. “Good. Now try to say what you said before in Mando’a.”

Obi-Wan frowned in concentration. “Vor entee-“

“Entye.”

“- entye par yaim’ol ner… tracy’uur?*”

Set beamed. “Gar cuyir morutar.*”

He couldn’t help but smile in return.

Mando’a was an interesting language to learn; it was a lot more formal than Huttese (something he had been forced to learn over the years due to his occasional dealings in the Outer Rim), and it was based around a military culture, making everything very structured. He’d only been studying it for a few days, a week at most, but he could tell that, although the language itself might have been simple enough to learn, there were little nuances and phrases, much as in any other, that were unique to Mando’a. Even with the help he was getting, it was going to be hard going.

The only way to make the process go as fast as possible, of course, was to use it as much as he could.

Set slapped him and the arm. “Good luck, vod’ika*. You’ll need it.”

“Vor’e, alor’ad.*”

Ayora nodded, and continued on her way, leaving him standing with the two guards who had been watching the interaction with amusement from their post outside Councillor Borri’s office. Had this been before the assassination attempt, Obi-Wan would have accused them of mocking him, but interactions with the guards had gotten decidedly better.

His blasters were now firmly strapped to his sides, he was able to spar with a partner on a regular basis (though how often he _won_ those spars was debatable), and he’d somehow earned the name _vod’ika_ – little brother. When it had happened, or why, he wasn’t sure, but it was making him feel decidedly… welcomed.

He still wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

There was at least one thing that had remained the same though, and while that was somewhat comforting, it was still an annoyance he would rather not endure.

Taking a deep breath, he approached the door, knocked, and entered.

Borri Talis was sat behind his desk, looking over several data pads that clutter it. He didn’t seem to notice Obi-Wan for a moment, but as soon as he did, he quickly shut down all the screens.

“Generally speaking, it’s good manners to wait until you are asked to enter a room before you do,” the older man said with a frown.

“Well, Bounty Hunters aren’t supposed to _have_ manner, are they?” Obi-Wan replied, folding his arms and making himself looking as relaxed as possible.

“What do you want, Bounty Hunter?”

He regarded the man for a moment, before taking a step closer to the desk. “You’re preventing me from doing my job, Councillor.”

The man smirked. “Is that so?”

“I can’t plan a proper defence for the Duchess if you don’t give me the plans for this building.”

Borri laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “Those guards might have accepted you, might have dubbed you _cin vhetin_ *, but I know you for what you truly are.”

“And what is that, Councillor?”

“You are a wild dog, a beast that lingers around the civilised, and you wouldn’t think twice about biting the hand that feeds you. It’s your nature, after all.” He glared once again, but the smirk never left his mouth. “However, I have found a solution to this… problem.”

Obi-Wan’s hands twitched, eager to rest on his blasters. “Solution?”

“I have made a request to the Jedi Council,” Borri explained, gathering the data pads with an almost lazy attitude. “One of their representatives should be arriving soon.”

“Someone more worthy of my role?”

“You may have fooled the Duchess, but you have not fooled me. I do not trust you, so how can I give you what you ask for? And if I cannot do that, then how can you _protect_ the Duchess?” His sneer told him what the Councillor really thought of that statement. “I will have no trouble trusting the word of a Jedi, for they always keep it.”

Obi-Wan swallowed the bile he could feel creeping up his throat at those words and tightened his grip on his arms to prevent himself from doing anything wildly stupid. “I see.”

“Yes, things should clear up quite nicely.”

The young man got the sense that he was being dismissed, so, knowing that if he stayed any longer he would end up shooting the man, he turned and marched out the door.

The guards stared after him as he stormed past, but he ignored them. He was too angry to talk right now, and he needed to let off some steam.

Servants and politicians alike swerved to stay out of his way as he strode though the hallways, footsteps light from a long habit. It took not time at all to reach the firing range, and the charge of his pistol was empty before he’d taken a breath.

Others in the range had fallen silent, watching him carefully as he examined the steaming target with cold eyes. His second pistol was in his other hand with a flick of his wrist, and the target all but disintegrated.

Obi-Wan breathed deep, blinked, and dropped the blasters on the table before him, leaning heavily on parted arms. Lose strands of dull copper dropped over his face as he tried to temper himself, to cool his rage.

He breathed in through his nose, slowly, holding it for a count of three, the breathed out through his mouth, and holding for a count of three. He repeated it once, twice, more, until he could finally think straight.

Looking up, he noticed that his shots had all hit the head of the target, and it was still smouldering a little. His arms were shaking with unspent energy and adrenalin, but now he wasn’t a danger to others, and he almost collapsed with the realisation that he could have hurt someone if he’d been any less aware, and that frightened him.

He breathed again, fingers balling into fists. In, and out. In, and out.

“Vod’ika?”

A hesitant hand touched at his shoulder, causing him to tense momentarily, but his lack of reaction was enough for the hand to cover the pauldron.

“Vod’ika,” the voice repeated, closer this time. Obi-Wan recognised it as male, but not who it belonged to. It confused him that someone he didn’t know would call him something so intimate.

“Why?”

“Why?” the voice echoed, heavily accented and rough, yet soft at the same time.

“Why do you call me that? I’m not your brother. I’m _nobody’s_ brother,” Obi-Wan finally turned to face the man beside him; he was a little taller than him, though not by much, and his hair was going grey at the temples. He held himself in a proud manner, yet his pale eyes expressed a deep sorrow. “I don’t deserve…”

He looked away, squeezing his eyes shut. “Councillor Borri is right. Who could ever trust a Bounty Hunter?”

There was a moment of silence, and the world held still, but then he suddenly found himself pulled upright, shoulders held in a firm grasp.

“You are _not_ a Bounty Hunter,” the man replied, “You are _cin vhetin_! Do you know what this means?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“It means ‘white snow’. It means you are not your past. You are the present, and you will be the future, but the moment you put on the armour,” he gave Obi-Wan’s breast plate a tug, “the moment you accepted the _beskar’gam_ *, you became family. You became _vod’ika_. It just took time for us to realise it.”

Obi-Wan was stunned. There was a part of him that didn’t want to believe it, that was still suspicious, but from the way this man was looking at him, and the way the others were as well, he couldn’t help but feel like he was telling the truth.

He stepped back, and held out his hand. “Vode?*”

The man smiled and clasped his forearm. “Vode.”

With a nod, the two separated, but the man motioned for Obi-Wan to follow. “ _Olaror_ *, we should spar.”

Not willing to pass up such an opportunity, the young man collected his empty blasters and joined his new ‘brother’. True, Borri didn’t trust him, but he was beginning to understand that, though it was an obstacle, he didn’t have to face it alone.

Hopefully he wouldn’t have too many more emotional surprises though. This was just getting ridiculous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Vor entye par yaim’ol ner tracy’uur. – Thank you for returning my blasters.  
> * Gar cuyir morutar. – You are welcome.  
> * vod’ika – little brother  
> * Vor’e, alor’ad. – Thanks, captain.  
> * cin vhetin – while snow (the concept that a person’s past doesn’t matter after they have taken up the armour)  
> * beskar’gam – armour (literally: iron skin)  
> * Vode? – Brothers/Sisters?  
> * Olaror – Come


	5. I was informed you were in need of assistance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jedi arrives, but not everyone is happy with the new arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I just handed in my final 'big piece' for University today, so I thought I'd celebrate with another chapter! (I still have a few more to work on though, so updates will continue to be a bit sporadic for a few weeks.)
> 
> A HUGE thank you to [Callum John](http://nerdemic.co.uk/) again for helping me out with the plot itself, AND to [poplitealqueen (Isimun)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Isimun) for beta reading (still can't believe you are XD) and [Gem_Gem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem) for keeping me going (and helping me out with my secondary plot bunny that has arisen since this story has begun - which may or may not rear its head in the coming months)!
> 
> Mando'a translations in the end notes, as always.

It had been a day since Rus’ur, the man from the shooting range, had pulled him away from his self-deprecating thoughts and into a sparring match, and Obi-Wan was feeling much like his usual self again. The older man had been kind enough to beat the living shit out of him, then pull him back together, using a combination of lessons (in both combat and language), food, and stories.

It turned out that Rus’ur had been a Guard at the Palace for over two decades, and was a proud father of 2 boys, both around Obi-Wan’s age. They had decided not to follow Rus’ur into the life of a guard, but he was happy for them, just the same. Due to his work though, he wasn’t able to see them, or his wife, very often though, and that left a gap in his life.

Which, it seemed, was where Obi-Wan now came in.

Somehow, over the course of the day, Obi-Wan had found himself adopted, and Rus’ur took his new role very seriously. Over the period of a few hours, he had not only learned about different combat techniques and the New Mandalorians, but also the Code of the Old.

_“Kot cuyir jibr, the strong lead. Pu’ur cuyir jibr, honourless men are dead men, inside. Ginatagr cuyir jibr, brings us purpose. Kyr’am cuyir jibr, die as you have lived.*”_

It was strange, hearing these words from someone who still believed in them. The code itself confused Obi-Wan a little, but there were aspects of the _Resol’nare_ – the Six Actions – that he understood.

To defend yourself and your family, to raise your children as Mandalorians, to contribute to your clan’s welfare… these were things that he had been raised to believe were good and right, things he _still_ believed were true, and yet his lifestyle had prevented him from practising these morals.

Obi-Wan had ended the day in high spirits, after Rus’ur had graced him with a new name; Ad’ika.*

Obi-Wan couldn’t remember his father, so to be adopted as a sort of son by this caring man was an odd feeling, but one he greatly appreciated, and was eager to accept. It felt right, somehow. He could almost say he felt safe.

Not _now_ though, obviously. Now, he was standing next to the Duchess (much to Councillor Borri’s annoyance, and his amusement) in the temporary throne room awaiting the arrival of the Jedi, while Rus’ur was busy patrolling the corridors. He had a job to do, and it was in his best interests to keep alert.

Satine had insisted on no helmets for himself and her Head of Security, so he was feeling a little more exposed than usual as they flanked her throne, he to her left, Ayora to her right.

The Duchess  shifted in her seat and turned to the Councillor, who stood a few feet in front and to the right of her. “Borri.”

The man turned to face her. “Yes, your grace?”

“Is the Jedi really necessary? I don’t see why we would need his help.”

Borri sighed. “We’ve already discussed this, your grace.”

“No, _you’ve_ discussed this. _I_ have disagreed with every word you’ve said.”

Obi-Wan could barely keep the grin from forming, and had to bite his lip to keep a straight face. With a quick glance to his right, he could see that the Captain was having similar difficulties.

“Your grace-”

“I would like to know, Councillor Talis, when it occurred to you that you had the right to undermine my authority.”

The man visibly paled. “Your grace, please, I-”

Suddenly, the doors at the far end of the hall opened, revealing a tall, robed figure, cutting off the Councillor’s apology. As the silhouette began to approach, the Duchess sat taller, chin high.

“Mhi malyasa'yr dilheya ibic du'caryc,*” she murmured just loud enough for Borri to hear, and though Obi-Wan didn’t know what it meant yet, he could tell from the way the Councillor’s head lowered that it was something serious.

Soon, the Jedi stood before them, and bowed low.

It was a human male, and looked to be in his mid-forties. His hair was long and brown, though threads of silver were beginning to weave into it and the neat beard he kept. And he was tall; a good six feet at least. He wore what Obi-Wan recognised as the regular Jedi garb, but it looked worn. When the Jedi straightened again, he could see it was not just his clothes that looked haggard.

“Your grace,” he said, his voice gruff and low, “My name is Qui-Gon Jinn. I was informed you were in need of assistance.”

She smiled a polite smile, and nodded her head at him. “Master Jedi, I do apologise, but you heard wrong. I’m afraid my council has overstepped their bounds and asked for help without my approval. We do not need any assistance here, though it is welcome, and I thank you for coming.”

The Jedi frowned, looking between the Duchess and the Councillor. “Excuse me for being blunt, your grace, but I was under the impression that your security has been faltering of late.”

“And what gave you that impression?”

“The attempt on your life is… common knowledge in the Republic.”

“Is it indeed.”

Obi-Wan stiffened slightly, hearing the cold edge that was beginning to seep into Satine’s voice. His movement must have caught the Jedi’s eye, because in the next moment he was being scrutinised. It only lasted for a second, but there was something… sharp about it, that made him wince. He blinked, a sudden tightness behind his eyes making it a little more difficult to concentrate.

He breathed in through his nose, and out through his mouth, relaxing his stiffened muscles, though the pinching feeling remained for a few moments longer, and then vanished, as though it had never happened in the first place.

“Your grace, from what I have seen,” Qui-Gon continued, “you are dangerously unprepared and under-protected.”

“I somehow find that hard to believe, Master Jedi,” the Duchess said, rising from her seat, “As you can see, I am unharmed and whole, so please, tell me how my security is failing to do their job.”

Master Jinn remained silent for a few moments, examining the young ruler with a calculating eye, then bowed again. “I apologise, your grace. I have overstepped my bounds.”

“Yes, you have.” Satine considered him for a moment. “However, your expertise will be most welcome. I am sure my Head of Security and bodyguard will be favourable to your input.”

She turned to look at Ayora and Obi-Wan, who both nodded. A flash of astonishment passed over the Jedi’s face, but it was gone in a flash. Obi-Wan had seen it though.

That was a problem waiting to happen.

“You honour me, your grace,” he said with yet another bow.

Satine turned her head to the left slightly. “Obi-Wan.”

He stepped forward, ignoring the look Borri was sending him. “My lady?”

The Jedi’s brow quirked a little at his address for the Duchess, but no one else batted an eye.

“Would you mind showing our guest to his room?”

Obi-Wan glanced at the Councillor, who was sending him a death glare, and couldn’t help but smirk. He raised a fist over his chest and nodded. “Elek, alor.*”

There was an audible snort from the Captain, though by the time Obi-Wan looked at her, her face was a schooled mask of calm. The Duchess, on the other hand, was openly showing her amusement.

“E’ca’e calyarnr,*” she murmured.

He grinned in return, then turned to the Jedi, his face once again the image of professionalism. “Master Jedi? If you would follow me.”

Without waiting for an answer, he started walking towards the doors. By the time he reached them, the taller man had caught up with him, and was walking by his side. The guards gave him a nod as he passed, which he returned, and he made his way towards the guest quarters.

The guest rooms were in a slightly different location to his own, for which Obi-Wan was profoundly grateful. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but something about this ‘Qui-Gon Jinn’ put him on edge, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to relax in his vicinity.

The man in question also didn’t seem to like him much either, as he kept sending him odd looks. Obi-Wan kept quiet though; he wouldn’t talk to the Jedi unless he had to.

“Obi-Wan. That’s not a Mandalorian name, is it?”

The young man bit down on his tongue. He just _had_ to jinx it, didn’t he. “No, it’s not.”

Master Jinn regarded him for a moment. “Where do you come from then?”

“Not Mandalore.” He sent the Jedi a warning look. It earned him an amused one in return.

“And yet you have adopted their language.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “You could say that.”

The amusement morphed into annoyance. “You are rather defensive for someone I’m supposed to be working with soon.”

He shrugged. “You’ll probably hear the rumours soon enough. I don’t want to spoil their fun.”

“And you don’t trust me.”

Obi-Wan paused, forcing the Jedi to stop. “I’m sorry if that offends you,” he said, his voice holding no hint of apology, “but in my line of work, trusting people like you is a good way to get you killed or locked away for a good long time, if you’re lucky.”

“And what exactly _is_ your line of work?”

The young man glared. He must has sprained an eye muscle or something, because the tightness was back. It felt a little like the beginnings of a headache, and he had to blink and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Your room isn’t much farther now,” he said, walking past the perplexed Jedi and turning the next corner on their route.

It took him a few moments, but he soon noticed that the Jedi wasn’t following him, so he was forced to turn back. He found him standing where he’d left him, standing in a thoughtful pose; hand stroking his bearded chin as he frowned at the wall.

“As fascinating as the wall is,” Obi-Wan said, startling Master Jinn (to his hidden pleasure), “it will still be there after I show you to your room.”

“Right… yes. Of course. I apologise.”

The bow caught him a little off guard, but Obi-Wan simply nodded and continued on.

They walked in silence after that, which the younger man was thankful for. It was only a short distance to the guest quarters, but by the time they reached the door, he was itching to get away.

“This is you,” he said, opening the doors with a swipe of his hand.

“Thank you.” The Jedi stepped past to examine the living area he had been assigned. “Is there a way I can contact the Jedi Council?”

“There’s an interplanetary line in the room at the far end of the hallway,” Obi-Wan replied, pointing in the right direction, “Last door on the right. There’s also a comm. line next to the door, in case you need anything.”

The Jedi looked at the wall where the comm. unit was. “I see. Thank you once again.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Someone will come to fetch you when it’s time for the next meal.”

With all the formalities over with, he made to leave.

“Wait.”

He stopped, fist clenching in irritation, but turned back to the man now standing in the doorway.

He looked confused, and he was staring intently at the bodyguard, as though he could see into his soul. “How does one so young, and an outsider no less, gain such a rank of authority?”

The slither of anger Obi-Wan had been keeping smothered flared. “Excuse me?”

“I am merely asking how you have achieved your place,” the Jedi explained, eyes hard, “Would you not be asking the same thing were you in my position?”

“If you are insinuating some form of foul play-“

“Oh, I think we both know that the Duchess would never bow to threats or bribes.”

“Then what? You’re making no sense!”

The Jedi frowned at him, and the headache returned once again. “You will tell me how you got your position.”

He’d heard of these ‘Jedi mind tricks’, but never had he experienced them. Until now, it seemed.

“Stop it,” his hands rose to his temples, blasters forgotten, as the throbbing increased. The words echoed in his ears, and they just, wouldn’t, _stop_.

“Tell me.”

Obi-Wan retreated, the throbbing now a sharp pain. “Get out of my head!”

Turning on his heel, he fled, leaving the Jedi behind to stare after him. He didn’t stop until he was in his room, door firmly shut and locked behind him, and collapsed on his bed, waiting for the pain to subside. It was some time before he left again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Kot cuyir jibr… Pu’ur cuyir jibr… Ginatagr cuyir jibr… Kyr’am cuyir jibr – Strength is life… Honour is life… Loyalty is life… Death is life (part of the [Mandalorian Code of Honour](http://starwars-exodus.wikia.com/wiki/Code_of_Honor) – edited from the original)  
> * Ad’ika – kid/lad/boy/sweetie/darling/son/daughter/child  
> * Mhi malyasa'yr dilheya ibic du'caryc. – We will discuss this later.  
> * Elek, alor. – Yes, boss(/leader/chief)  
> * E’ca’e calyarnr. – Cheeky bastard (literal: childish bastard)


	6. Pazaak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A game of cards turns more personal than Obi-Wan expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of Satine in recent chapters! She's not in this one either, but she WILL be appearing next time. However, I am stupidly pleased with this chapter, and I hope you'll like my OCs!  
> Thank you once again to [Callum John](http://nerdemic.co.uk/) for helping with the plot and proof reading, and to [poplitealqueen (Isimun)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Isimun) for being my beta (your comments on this chapter in particular had me grinning like a Cheshire cat)! And thanks once again to [Gem_Gem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem) for keeping me going (and letting me talk your ear off about yet ANOTHER story idea - I am so sorry).  
> For those of you who don't know, [Pazaak](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Pazaak/Legends)is a card game (which I will not explain here), but I basically changed it so that it's more or less 21.  
> Mando'a translations at the end as always!

The cafeteria had been hastily put together some weeks before Obi-Wan had arrived, and it still looked a little miss-matched, with temporary serving areas and tables of varying shapes and sizes clumped together in one area, with a similar array of chairs. But that was part of its charm.

It wasn’t the cold, vast area of the royal dining hall, or the cramped, solitary space of his room. There was always someone here, no matter what time it was. There was always food (though whether it was warm or not was questionable in-between meal times) and hot caf was stewing in a pot (there was also hot water for tea, but barely anyone ever drank that).

However, now that the sun had set, and the majority of staff had gone to bed, the caf was simply left to cool by those few who were still up and lucky enough not to pull night duty.

Usually, Obi-Wan used the nights to get some well-earned rest, but tonight, he couldn’t put his mind at ease, and he found himself entering the cafeteria in search of friendly company. His faith in others had been severely shaken by his encounter with the Jedi, and he needed the comfort and safety of friends.

He looked around the room, noticing Rus’ur sitting at one of the tables playing a card game with two other men his age, before walking over to the serving table. The men seemed to be drinking some sort of beer, and he didn’t want to be tempted, so he poured himself a glass of blue milk instead, and made his way over.

“Ad’ika!” Rus’ur exclaimed when he noticed Obi-Wan’s approach, “Welcome! Please, join us.”

The young man smiled and pulled up a chair, setting his glass down on the table as the others moved to give him space.

“Ad-ika, meet Bur’paani,” the older man waved to the darker haired man of the two, who nodded as he shuffled a deck of cards, “and Mavaar.” He waved at the second man who was a little shorter than the others but had sharper eyes. “Vode, this is Obi-Wan.”

“Vod’ika,” Mavaar smiled and held out his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“Finally?” Obi-Wan asked, as he shook the hand.

Mavaar nodded. “You have a reputation.”

“What kind of a reputation?”

Mavaar shrugged. “Oh, you know. ‘Reformed Bounty Hunter’, ‘the Hero of Mandalore’, that kind of thing.”

Obi-Wan groaned. “Great.”

Rus’ur laid a firm hand on his shoulder with a smirk as Bur’paani started dealing the cards out. The man paused when he reached the Body Guard. “You play?”

Obi-Wan blinked. “What’s the game?”

“Pazaak.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be for two players?”

Rus’ur laughed. “We play Pazaak a little differently here.”

Mavaar nodded. “It’s the same rules; you have to get twenty, or as close as you can, but we only use one deck, and it’s for multiple players.”

“And dealer,” Bur’paani chipped in, waving the cards at them.

“And a dealer.” Mavaar took a swig from his bottle. “So, you in?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

Rus’ur patted his shoulder again and collected his cards as they came. “The bet is: the loser answers a question from the winner.”

One of Obi-Wan’s eyebrows rose, but he grinned at the challenge. “You’re on.”

For the first five games, Bur’paani remained the dealer, and Obi-Wan learned a little more about the men who had adopted him into their fold (all the while dodging their curses at his ‘Bounty Hunter Luck’). It turned out that the three of them had all joined the Guard at roughly the same time, and had been friends, brothers, ever since. Of the three of them, only Mavaar was unmarried, but only Rus’ur had children.

“They don’t have the guts to become fathers,” Rus’ur said, a playful glare sent towards the others, who just waved him off, before turning back to Obi-Wan. “Raising children is the most difficult thing you will ever do, but the rewards are greater than you could ever imagine.”

Mavaar scoffed. “Living life as a  _ graotr _ * has its perks. More than being married or being a father!”

Bur’paani laughed at this and shook his head. “Ner riduur*, he is love of my life. He makes my life whole.  _ You _ do not know what this feels like. Cannot judge.”

Mavaar just shook his head and held out his hand. “Just give me the cards.”

When Mavaar came to deal, Obi-Wan lost his first round, to Rus’ur of all people, and he was forced to reveal why he was drinking blue milk.

“It was there, and I wanted some.”

Rus’us scoffed. “So was the beer, yet you’re not drinking that.”

He shrugged. “As much as I like Fozbeer, I don’t think it’s a good idea tonight.”

Rus’ur frowned at that, the mood suddenly turning a little more serious. “Why?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, and grinned. “You’ve asked your question. Maybe next time.”

Rus’ur had looked almost disappointed, which hurt more than Obi-Wan had thought it would, but quickly cheered up again, and the game continued on.

The next second time he lost, it was Bur’paani who’d won, and he found himself surprised by the question.

“How long were you Bounty Hunter?”

“I… uh… Living as one, or taking contracts?”

“There is difference?” the dark haired man asked with a confused frown.

Obi-Wan nodded. “I’ve lived as a Bounty Hunter since I was seven years old, but I didn’t start taking contracts until I was thirteen.”

The table was silent for a few moments, and Obi-Wan felt his own confusion rise as he watched the emotions pass through the men’s eyes. The pity was humiliating, but expected, and the shock he understood, or was at least starting to, but the sadness and anger were completely baffling. He jumped a little when Rus’ur’s hand met the table with a  _ slam _ .

“Meg cu'e be sayr malyasa'yr narir ibac at etie adiik?*” he said, but Obi-Wan didn’t know enough of the language to understand what he was saying, but the angry tone was worrying.

“Katwu’ure,*” Mavaar seemed to agree.

Bur’paani simply spat on the ground, disgust clearly written on his face.

Obi-Wan suddenly felt very uncomfortable. For them to react in such a way about his past… perhaps he wasn’t accepted after all. With a cough, he stood and drained his glass with an uneasy grin. “Thanks for the game, but uh… I should probably be heading to bed.”

Rus’ur was on his feet in an instant, and Obi-Wan found himself instinctively stepping back, but ended up falling over his chair and tumbling onto the floor instead. It took him a moment to realise he’d fallen, but by the time he’d started pulling himself up, Rus’ur was there, all sympathy and concern.

“Ad’ika?” the man asked, “Are you alright?”

Obi-Wan’s head spun at the sudden change. Was he angry or not? Was he a Brother or a stranger? He stared at the hand that had been offered, then slapped it away, barely holding back a snarl.

“What is this? Some kind of…” he glanced at the cards and gritted his teeth, “I don’t need your false sympathies.” He stood on his own, watching as Rus’ur’s frown changed from one of concern to one of confusion. He almost laughed. “You’ve been playing with me from the start, haven’t you. All this ‘vod’ and ‘ad’ika’ stuff, they were just pretty, little lies.”

“Vod-” Bur’paani started but Obi-Wan didn’t let him finish.

“I thought you cared! That for once in my life, someone actually cared enough to give a damn about my pathetic little life. But that’s just it, isn’t it? I’m… I’m some kind of leper, something you can’t stand the sight of, because of what I am.”

Mavaar was standing now as well, but he remained behind the table. “No, Obi-Wan-”

“Shut up!”

His voice echoed, reverberating off of every surface. It made him think of how empty it was, how silent, and suddenly he had to get away. He pushed his way past them, striding quickly towards the entrance, but before he could reach that stretch of freedom, he was stopped by two large arms, wrapping tightly around him.

He struggled against them, even though he knew it was hopeless. “Let go of me.”

“Ad’ika-” Rus’ur’s voice rumbled in his ear, low and soothing, like he was some kind of wild animal that needed taming.

“Shut up.”

“You must listen to me.”

“No. I’m through with your lies-”

“Ad’ika, we did not lie.”

“You did! You hate me! Just like everyone else!”

“Hush.”

“You and every other person in this galaxy!”

“Udesla.*”

“I trusted you.” Obi-Wan’s voice hitched, and he could feel a lump rise in his throat. “I thought you would understand, but all you did was spit in my face.”

“No, Ad’ika, Obi-Wan, we would never do that-”

“But you did!”

“No, we did not.”

Obi-Wan’s breath hitched, and he blinked in surprise. “You… you didn’t?”

“No. We spoke of your parents.”

“My parents?”

“To have made you into what you are at such a young age,” Rus’ur paused, arms tightening around the young man momentarily before relaxing again, “there is no honour in it.”

“But… my parents are dead.”

“Dead?”

“They died when I was six years old. I-I wandered the streets, searching for food, until the Bounty Hunters took me in. It wasn’t their fault.” Obi-Wan frowned. “Why am I telling you this?”

Suddenly, he was spun around, and he found himself briefly facing the now teary-eyed Mandalorian Guard before he was crushed against the man’s chest, calloused fingers running softly through his hair.

“Ner b'amr, ner boracyk b'amr, meg marer jibr ganar dinuir gar,*” he whispered, “You are safe here. You are Cin Vhetin now, you are family, and we protect our family.”

“Family?”

It was such a foreign word, one Obi-Wan had thought he had forgotten the meaning of years before, much as he had ‘home’ and ‘friend’. Family had vanished the day his parents died, and the ‘guardian’ that had replaced them had never spared him any love.

Was this what love felt like? This warm, soothing embrace? Was it really something so simple?

“Ad’ika, what has shaken your faith in me?” Rus’ur asked, his arms loosening just enough to give Obi-Wan space to pull away a little, though the young man remained where he was.

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether he should say anything or not, but Rus’ur sounded so welcoming, that he couldn’t help but hope. “It was the Jedi.”

There was a moment of silence, the fingers in his hair pausing in their soothing circles, and for a moment Obi-Wan thought he’d made a terrible mistake. But then he could feel, then hear the deep rumbling of Rus’ur’s laughter.

“The Jedi?” the man laughed, pulling Obi-Wan away from himself and taking him by the shoulders. “The Jedi?”

Obi-Wan blinked at the mirth he saw in his eyes, and then noticed that both Bur’paani and Mavaar were struggling with their own. “Yes?”

Rus’ur turned back to the others for a moment. “Kaysh jaru cuyir a Mando!*” They simply nodded as they tried to keep themselves from collapsing to the floor.

Before Obi-Wan could ask what was going on, Rus’ur’s hand came down on his shoulder in a hard, though friendly, slap. “We Mandalorians, the ones of the old order, have a long lasting grudge with the Jedi. You must truly be one of us to bring such ire from them.”

Obi-Wan blinked, then grinned. “Haat?*”

Rus’ur nodded. “Haat. Shall we continue with our game?”

“Yes, I think we shall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * graotr – bachelor  
> * Ner riduur – My husband  
> * Meg cu'e be sayr malyasa'yr narir ibac at etie adiik? – What kind of parent would do that to their child?  
> * Katwu’ure – Dishonourable  
> * Udesla. – Calm.  
> * Ner b'amr, ner boracyk b'amr, meg marer jibr ganar dinuir gar. – My boy, my poor boy, what horrors life has given you.  
> * Kaysh jaru cuyir a Mando! – He truly is a Mandalorian!  
> * Haat? – Truth?


	7. Demargeb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rus'ur gives a lesson in Mando'a fighting, but when certain visitors arrive, things get out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long! It was not intentional I swear!  
> Once again, a massive thank you to both [Callum John](http://nerdemic.co.uk/) and [Gem_Gem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem) for helping me with the planning and plotting of this story, and a special thanks to [Annie Walker](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2593862/) for beta reading this chapter! You are a life saver.  
> I've finished my University course now! Last deadline has been and gone, so hopefully I'll be updating this with an increased frequency (though no promises; Gem_Gem and I have just started writing a story together, and it is VERY distracting).  
> Thank you for your patience, and as always, the Mando'a translations are in the end notes!

As expected, the Jedi and Councillor Borri got along exceedingly well. It was rare to see one without the other nearby over the next week, talking of anything from politics to the weather, all smiles and politeness. They looked over the blueprints for the building and the Jedi devised efficient and practical ways to keep it safe.

Blueprints which were always hidden when Obi-Wan entered the room.

Conversations that silenced when they knew his ears were listening.

Eyes that held suspicion and thinly veiled disgust when they were directed at him.

Obi-Wan had taken to training every evening to work off enough frustration so that he wouldn’t just shoot the condemnation off their faces. He’d even removed his blasters’ power packs once, but soon realised that in doing so, he was endangering the Duchess by not being prepared.

In the end, he found the best option was to avoid them when he didn’t need to interact with them. At meal times, it was easy – he ate in the cafeteria with his brothers and sisters, while the Councillor took his meals in his office, and the Jedi ate in his room – and most other times, the pair would be sequestered in either the office or the library. However, there were those moments when they would be forced to endure one another’s presence.

It seemed that today was one of those days. Almost a week after his arrival, the Jedi had finally decided that he should ‘inspect’ the men he was supposed to be working with, and so the Councillor and Duchess led him to the barracks (meaning the Duchess led them, as she was the only one of the three who visited on a regular basis).

It just so happened that it was the same day that Rus’ur had decided to teach Obi-Wan about the  _ Demargeb _ * style of fighting.

The two of them were stood in the middle of the sparring mat, stripped down to thin trousers and shirt, while other groups and pairs worked around them. Rus’ur held an old fashioned blaster pistol in his hands, one with a manual hammer. While Obi-Wan trusted him, he glanced warily at it every so often, unsure of what was going on.

“Don’t worry, ad’ika,” the older man said with a smile, holding the blaster out, butt first, “it’s not loaded.”

Obi-Wan took the blaster and examined it and, sure enough, the charge pack was missing.

“What do you know about disarming opponents in close combat?”

He shrugged. “That you have to do it fast, or you die.”

Rus’ur chuckled. “Gatle.*” He held out his hand again, and Obi-Wan returned the pistol. He then pointed it at Obi-Wan’s chest, almost touching it, and cocked the hammer. “Now, show me how you would disarm me.”

Obi-Wan stared for a moment, and then nodded.

He raised his arm, knocked the barrel out of the way with his hand, and then…

The hammer clicked. The barrel was still pointing at his chest.

Rus’ur hummed. “You’re not moving enough. Move your entire body. Twist out of the way.” He cocked the hammer back. “Again.”

Squaring himself in front of the blaster, Obi-Wan tried again, taking Rus’ur’s advice into account. He was still in the line of fire when the hammer fell, but it would only have been a flesh wound.

“Better,” the  _ Ruug’la Jag _ * nodded, “but this time, I want you to grab it, instead of pushing it out of the way.”

Returning to their starting positions, the hammer was cocked once more. This time, Obi-Wan managed to twist the pistol out of the way so that he wouldn’t have been harmed. But Rus’ur was still holding it, though his arm was in an awkward position.

“Good! Now, next time, you need to twist it more, so you force me to let go.”

Obi-Wan nodded and stepped back again, allowing the pistol to be levelled at him once again.

The hammer was drawn back, and he took a deep breath.

He moved fast, moving around Rus’ur’s arm as he grabbed the blaster and twisted it from his grasp. Now it was in his hands. Using the grasp he had on the older man’s arm, he forced him to his knees and rested the end of the barrel against the back of his head.

Rus’ur chuckled and twisted his head slightly, enough for Obi-Wan to see his grin. “Sarcahye!*”

He was about to respond when he was suddenly found himself propelled across the room, flying past and through several of the other training groups, before crashing into the wall and landing in a breathless heap on the floor. The blaster was pulled out from his now loose grip as he pulled his hands close to his chest to protect himself from further attacks. There were shouts of shock and outrage around him as he coughed and wheezed, and then there were soft, smooth fingers against his cheeks.

Looking up, he found Satine kneeling over him, eyes full of sorrow and care as she looked over him.

“Obi-Wan,” she said as she touched his head, gently running her fingertips over his scalp, “are you alright?”

“Satine?” He pushed himself to his knees and blinked, trying to stop the world from spinning. “What… What happened?”

As a reply, she simply looked over her shoulder. Following her gaze, he felt his muscles tense as his eyes fell on a familiar figure.

Qui-Gon Jinn was standing with Councillor Talis, surrounded by some  _ very _ unhappy Mandalorian guards, looking quite bewildered. Rus’ur looked particularly pissed as he stood before them, arms stiff and hands twitching at his sides.

“How dare you?” he growled, his voice low. “How _dare_ you?”

The Jedi frowned. “Excuse me?”

“What gives you the right to treat that boy like that? Like he’s some kind of rag doll to be played with?”

“He was about to shoot you!” Borri exclaimed, stepping in, but as soon as Rus’ur’s gaze shifted to him, he retreated.

“Gar hwa kar'taylir jate'shya, jatne vod. Gar kar'taylir cuun nadetr. Gar ganar nayc sarnu'a.*”

Borri grimaced, while the confusion only grew for his companion.

“Jetii,* you should not have come between me and the boy,” Rus’ur continued, returning to the taller man.

“So you would have had me neglect my duty as a Jedi and let him kill you?” Jinn replied, his tone even and placid.

“This is the same duty that has made you all but shun him, even as we accept him as one of our own? The same duty that you have used to keep him from fulfilling his?”

Beside him, Obi-Wan heard Satine gasp in surprise. The Jedi, on the other hand, had donned a serene mask.

“Gar ganar nayc ijaa. Ner ad’ika, ibac b'amr...*” Rus’ur took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Obi-Wan has more honour in his toe, than the two of you could ever possess.”

Borri looked pale and mildly shocked, but the Jedi remained tall and uncaring. After a moment, the Councillor coughed and stepped further away from the angry man.

“Perhaps we should… return at some other time,” he said, “Your Grace?”

The Duchess glared for a moment before rising to her feet. “Yes. I do believe it would be wise of you to leave.”

Borri frowned. “Your Grace?”

“Don’t worry, Councillor, I shall be perfectly safe here.”

He looked as though he were about to say something more, but Satine raised a brow, and he clamped his mouth shut before turning towards the door. The Jedi remained where he was for a few moments longer, staring directly at Obi-Wan with a look that screamed of mistrust – one that was returned ten-fold – before following his companion.

Once the pair had exited the room, the tension that had slowly built over the past minutes was released in a collective sigh, though several wary eyes remained on the door. Obi-Wan took the opportunity to go completely boneless, finally allowing himself to feel the pain that his impact with the wall had caused.

His head throbbed slightly, and his shoulders and spine felt painfully bruised, but that was more or less all the damage he’d sustained, apart from the initial winding. The knock had made him feel very unstable, like if he stood, he was going to collapse after a few seconds from dizziness, so he knew he’d probably received a concussion.

“Ad’ika? Obi-Wan? Can you hear me?”

Obi-Wan blinked his eyes open, suddenly aware that they had drifted closed at some point. “Rus’ur?”

True enough, the older man was hovering over him, concern and worry written into every line in his face. He had a hand raised with several fingers pointed. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Three?”

Rus’ur grinned in relief and nodded. “Yes. Good.”

“What happened?”

Satine sighed. “I’m afraid we walked in at a rather inopportune moment.”

“Uh…?”

Rus’ur chuckled. “The Jetii* saw you hold the gun to my head and threw you across the room.”

Obi-Wan stared at him for a moment. “He really doesn’t trust me at all, does he.”

“Nayc.*”

He groaned. “Fantastic. That makes my job  _ so _ much easier.”

The Duchess frowned, but remained silent, and rose to her feet. “Come. We should get you to a healer; make sure he didn’t do you any permanent damage.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Rus’ur and Satine helped him to his feet, slinging each of his arms over their shoulders as they guided him through the barracks’ training room and out the door, several guards sending him compassionate looks as they passed.

The Infirmary was, luckily, only a short distance away, and it only took a handful of minutes for the three of them to stumble into it and set him down on one of the beds. A healer was at Obi-Wan’s side before he could even think to ask for one, and asked a number of questions, most of which the Duchess and the  _ Ruug’la Jag _ * answered, before a bright light was waved over one of his eyes.

“Stars!” he exclaimed, trying to turn away, but the Healer just snorted and moved to his other eye.

“Pupils are reacting normally,” she said, putting the light away and grabbing his wrist for a few moments and watching the chrono on the wall, “Pulse normal,” she let go and smiled. “I’m going to have to examine your back.”

Obi-Wan sighed and nodded.

“Could you remove your shirt please?” she asked as she stepped around him to get a better view.

“Warye.*” As he slipped the fabric over his head, he heard a familiar gasp. “What?”

Satine was staring at his exposed chest, eyes wide and hand delicately covering her mouth. As he looked down, he frowned in confusion. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong; there were no bones sticking out where they shouldn’t, no massive bruises, no blood…

“What is it?”

She reached out towards him, her fingertips just barely brushing over a patch of shiny, red skin. “… scars.”

Obi-Wan frowned, and looked between her and Rus’ur. The man simply smiled sadly, and backed quietly out of the room. A minute of silence later, along with a few painful hisses, the Healer stepped around him once again.

“I’m going to have to apply some cream, but it’s in another room,” she glanced at the Duchess, who was still fixated on the scars on Obi-Wan’s chest, making it clear what she really meant, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He nodded, which she returned, and then exited the room, leaving him and Satine on their own.

Obi-Wan let her examine him for a few moments longer, watching her face as it went through a spectrum of horror, fascination and awe, until he sighed and grasped her hands.

“Satine.”

She looked up at him, and it was only then that he noticed the tears in her eyes.

“Satine, you know what I… was. Being a Bounty Hunter is a dangerous thing, no matter how old you are. Being your Body Guard is no different. Being a Duchess,” he raised his hand to her cheek, “even more so. I have these scars because I didn’t learn fast enough, or I was clumsy, or stupid. But this one,” he moved her hand  over his arm, where the blaster shot from the assassination attempt had left a barely visible mark, “is the first one I will be proud to bare.”

“But, why? Why would you be proud of something that hurt you?”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Because it means that I did my job right. That I kept you safe.”

Satine’s face lit up in a brilliant blush, and she immediately stepped away, pulling her hands to her chest. “Uh, yes. Th-thank you. Again.”

Obi-Wan’s smile turned into a grin as he watched her stumble, though he couldn’t help the feeling of sadness the retched his gut when she pulled away.

“I uhm… need to find the Councillor. I’m sure he has something he has to talk to me about,” she said quickly before making a dash for the door. She was gone before he could say a word.

He stared after her for a moment, wondering at what exactly had just happened, but as the minutes passed, and the Healer returned, he decided to dismiss it. An emotional attachment to his employer could be a dangerous thing in the wrong hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Demargeb – derived from the words ‘demar gebi’, meaning ‘carve close’. Not an actual Mando’a martial art (as I was unable to find any), but I see this as something similar to Krav Maga  
> * Gatle. – True.  
> * Ruug’la Jag – Old Man  
> * Sarcahye! – Perfect!  
> * Gar hwa kar'taylir jate'shya, jatne vod. Gar kar'taylir cuun nadetr. Gar ganar nayc sarnu'a. – You should know better, Talis. You know our laws. You have no excuse.  
> * Jetii – Jedi  
> * Gar ganar nayc ijaa. Ner ad’ika, ibac b'amr... – You have no honour. My boy/son/child, that boy...  
> * Nayc. – No.  
> * Warye. – Sure.


	8. You KNow Why You Are Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a day since the incident in the barracks, and Satine is fed up of all the secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's commented, favourited and followed this story! Each an every one of you brings a smile to my face when I see your pen names, or even anonymous, notifications in my inbox! Without you guys, this story would not have continued for so long, and I am so glad that you are enjoying it!  
> Once again, a massive thank you to both [Callum John](http://nerdemic.co.uk/) and [Gem_Gem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem) for helping me with the planning and plotting of this story, and a special thanks to [Pika Britanica](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/3207672/) for beta reading this chapter!  
> Also, a special thanks to [wolfishpennings](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfishpennings/pseuds/wolfishpennings) for giving me the idea for this chapter! It was an awful lot of fun to write.  
> I'm hoping to continue this on a weekly basis, but Gem_Gem and I are still working on this Harry Potter/Sherlock story together, and it's extremely distracting... I will definitely continue to update thought! I love this story too much, and you guys are too amazing and supportive, to give up on it.  
> Thank you for your patience, and as always, the Mando'a translations are in the end notes!

Satine had called a meeting in the temporary throne room the day after the incident; a meeting that would only include those involved, and a few guards. It was to be held just after lunch, and from the tone of the message, there would be consequences for anyone who refused.

Obi-Wan’s back was still flaring up occasionally, and he was forced to walk a little slower than usual, but he had been assured by the Healer that it would pass in a few days (providing he applied the cream she had given him 3 times a day and went to see her if it became debilitating), and had been assured that there would be a chair waiting for him.

He really should have asked for her name, so he could curse it. Healers were notoriously persistent and thorough, and this one was no different. He’d already received the first of what he could tell would get many comm. messages that morning, reminding him of his treatment.

As he approached the meeting, Obi-Wan noticed that Bur’paani was stood on guard outside the door, and stopped to talk; he had a few minutes to spare.

“Su cuy’gar,* vod’ika!” the man greeted him with a smile.

Obi-Wan returned it gratefully. “Su cuy’gar at gar mr,* Bur’paani,” he replied, nodding to the other guard briefly, who smiled and turned back to his duty, “How have things been?”

Bur’paani shrugged. “Life is good. Heard what happened in training room.” His eyes hardened. “The Jetii is not friend of Manda’yaim.*”

The other guard huffed in agreement, but otherwise remained silent.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but frown. Had the animosity between him and Jinn caused such a rift between the Jedi and the guards? No. This was not good. “Bur’paani, the Jedi’s here to help. He’s here to protect the Duchess.”

“Yet he hurt you? No. He not help if he hurt vod’ika.”

The young man sighed and nodded. He wasn’t going to be able to change their minds any time soon. Hopefully this meeting would help sort a few things out. “Has anyone arrived yet?”

“Alor’ad,* Jetii… Rus’ur be here soon. Duchess is-”

“Good afternoon Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan spun around to find Satine stood behind him, Rus’ur stood a little behind her in his _beskar’gam_ , helmet tucked under his arm. Councillor Borri was striding down the hallway behind them, clearly struggling to catch up.

“My Lady,” Obi-Wan said with a short bow.

“It is good to see you have recovered enough to make this meeting on your own.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed slightly at the playful look in her eyes, ignoring the way Rus-ur bit his lip to keep himself from laughing. It was impossible for him to answer her in the way he would have liked in their current situation, and she knew it.

“I would not be a very good Body Guard if I could not,” he retorted, just as the Councillor reached them.

She hummed, looked him up and down for a moment, then walked past him into the room beyond, and Talis soon followed. Rus’ur remained behind for a moment, nodding to Bur’paani briefly before turning back to his young charge.

“Tsikador?*”

The young man sighed. “Not exactly.”

Rus’ur just nodded and motioned for Obi-Wan to lead the way.

When they entered the room, he found that the others had all started to congregate around the throne, where the Duchess sat waiting for them. Councillor Talis was staying close to the Jedi, keeping a wary eye on the three armoured persons opposite. Captain Set, proud as always, looked almost disinterested, save for when her gaze fell onto the Jedi. It wasn’t that long ago when she’d used that look on Obi-Wan.

Rus’ur rumbled at the sight of the man who had caused his _ad’ika_ harm, and had to grit his teeth to keep himself from reaching for his blaster (which he had yet to thank the lad for – it was long since time for them to be properly armed again). He kept close to Obi-Wan when they stopped before the Duchess, standing guard behind him slightly, with an uninterrupted line of sight between him and the Jedi.

Jinn was stood calmly, arms hidden in his robes, as he waited for the Duchess to begin the meeting, and Obi-Wan simply ignored him, stood at ease, so as not to pull any muscles in his back.

“You all know why you are here.” Satine’s eyes roamed over each of them. “What happened yesterday was horrible,” her eyes lingered on the Jedi, who seemed un-phased, “and it has brought many things to my attention,” and then the Councillor, who shifter slightly, “which could have been rectified had I been informed sooner.” This time Obi-Wan took her gaze, but he simply bit the inside of his cheek, and remained silent.

She frowned, then turned to the Jedi. “Master Jinn. Would you kindly explain your actions in the barracks yesterday?”

Jinn bowed and stepped forward. “I believe your chosen Body Guard to be dangerous, your Grace.”

One of her brows rose. “All of my guards are dangerous, Master Jinn, and yet you did not throw them to the wall.”

“He was holding a gun to a man’s head. I acted on instinct.”

“There were many in that room in the same position.”

The Jedi paused. “I had not noticed, your Grace.”

She hummed again, turning to Rus’ur. “You were the one who was teaching Obi-Wan the _Demargeb_ *. Rus’ur Choral, yes?”

Rus’ur nodded. “Elek, Dehi’r.*”

“Basic please, Choral.” She gave him a stern look, but it softened slightly after a few moments. “I understand you have taken our new _Beskar’gam_ * under your wing?”

“Yes, Duchess.”

“And you have been teaching him our ways.”

“Yes, Duchess.”

She nodded. “Then you have my thanks. However, in the future, please refrain from threatening our allies.”

“Yes, Duchess.”

Satine gave him a look of amused disbelief, but moved on, changing her focus to her Councillor. “Councillor Talis.”

“Your Grace?” he replied, bowing low.

“It has come to my attention that you have been withholding information from my guards that is deliberately making their ability to protect me… difficult.” Her eyes hardened once again. “Do you _want_ me killed?”

“I… N-no, your Grace!” the man stuttered. “I had not-”

“I find that hard to believe when you are purposefully hindering them from fulfilling their duty.”

Borri wilted into a low bow. “My apologies, your Grace. I will rectify this immediately.”

“See that you do.” She turned to Captain Set and smiled. “Captain, would you mind accompanying Councillor Talis to his office and retrieving any information he has neglected to give you?”

The Captain nodded. “Of course, Duchess.” She then turned to the Councillor, who winced at her hard look, and made to leave the room after another quick bow.

Once the two of them had gone, the Duchess rose from her seat and folded her hands in front of her. “Master Jinn. You seem to have some sort of vendetta against my Body Guard. Would you care to inform me of why this is?”

The Jedi blinked at her, and sent a quick glance at Obi-Wan, who was watching in interest.

“I believe that he is using the Force to get closer to you.”

No one spoke for a few moments, the only sound within the room was the creaking of leather as Rus’ur’s fingers closed into a fist.

Satine scowled at the accusation. “Explain.”

“Obi-Wan,” Jinn continued, the name said with something very close to distain, “is Force sensitive, your Grace. I believe he has been using it to… coerce you into letting him into your close circle.”

The man in question frowned. Force sensitive? Him? This Jedi must have been getting desperate if he chose to fall back on such a blatant lie. However, it seemed that he was not yet done.

“I suspect he has been using what we Jedi call the ‘mind trick’ to force you to accept him into your household. He-”

The Duchess held up her hand to fore-stall his words. “I know of this power, Master Jedi,” she said, stepping closer to him, “I know what it entails. I also know that it only works on the weak minded. Are you saying that I have a weak mind, Master Jinn?”

The Jedi paled. “I, uhm-”

“I would hope you weren’t, because that seems to imply that you have little faith in my ability to lead my people.”

“No, of course I believe-”

“And even if he were Force sensitive, he has proven himself both to myself and my people that he is loyal to our cause. If you believe otherwise, then you are part of a very small minority, and I suggest you consider this belief very carefully.”

Obi-Wan bit his lip at the chastised look Qui-Gon wore, and shifted his hands behind his back, making him stand a little taller.

The Jedi nodded, his head bowing in shame. “Yes, your Grace. I will, your Grace.”

Satine glared. “So far, you have not been presenting a very good image of the Jedi. I hope the rest of the Order is not as judgemental as you, or my faith in them has clearly be misplaced.”

“My apologies, your Grace.”

She continued to stare at him as she returned to her throne. “Leave us. I will talk to you once you’ve figured out what you’re doing here.”

The Jedi hesitated, then bowed low, and left the room, leaving only the three of them behind.

Rus’ur visibly relaxed once he was gone, his shoulders loosing much of their tension, and his hand falling away from his belt. Obi-Wan too allowed himself to be more at ease, and removed his hands from behind his back, which was beginning to ache a little from his tensed muscles.

Satine just sighed, lowering herself onto the throne and rubbing a hand over her face. “When did everything become so complicated?”

“It’s always been complicated, my Lady,” Obi-Wan said with a shrug.

“So it would seem.” She looked up at him with a confused gaze. “Are you really Force sensitive?”

Obi-Wan made to deny it, but then he stopped himself when he realised he didn’t know. “I had always assumed I wasn’t, and I’ve never been told I was, but I suppose it’s possible.”

Satine hummed. “Would you like to find out?”

He thought about it for a moment, but then shook his head. “I’ve gotten this far without it, and if I found out I was, what would I do? I’m too old to become a Jedi, and _he’s_ not making a very convincing case for them if I wasn’t. I don’t need it, and I’m happy where I am.”

Rus’ur nudged him with his elbow. “Jorhaa’ir emuurir a gatle vod.*”

Obi-Wan smiled at the encouragement, then turned back to the Duchess. “Thank you for the offer, my Lady, but I would rather not.”

She nodded and smiled. “Fair enough. Then I shan’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you have much to do.”

The two guards nodded their bows, and turned to leave. Just as they were at the door, the Duchess called after them.

“Oh and Obi-Wan?”

“Yes my Lady?”

She smirked. “Next time you have a problem, don’t forget to inform me.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Of course.”

With that, he left, Rus’ur’s hand falling on his shoulder. “Today has been a good day.”

“Yes it has.”

The hand squeezed, then turned him towards the medical ward.

“Wait, _Ruug’la Jag_ *-”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you wincing, ad’ika. We’re going to see the Healer.”

Obi-Wan groaned, but complied, silently pleased that Rus’ur cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Su cuy’gar – A friendly greeting (literally ‘still live’, or ‘so you’re still alive’)  
> * Su cuy’gar at gar mr – Hello to you too  
> * Manda’yaim. – Mandalore.  
> * Alor’ad – The Captain  
> * Tsikador? – Ready?  
> * Demargeb – derived from the words ‘demar gebi’, meaning ‘carve close’. Not an actual Mando’a martial art (as I was unable to find any), but I see this as something similar to Krav Maga  
> * Elek, Dehi’r. – Yes, Duchess.  
> * Beskar’gam – armour (literally ‘iron skin’; in this instance it is used as a title)  
> * Jorhaa’ir emuurir a gatle vod. – Spoken like a true brother.  
> * Ruug’la Jag – Old Man


	9. Under Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations over rations goes sour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to get this one done, but when I finished it last week, I absolutely hated it, so I ended up rewriting it. I like this one much better.  
> Thanks again to [Callum John](http://nerdemic.co.uk/) and [Gem_Gem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem) with their help on the planning and the chapter, and a special thanks to [Pica Britanica](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/3207672/) for beta reading!  
> As always, the Mando'a translations are at the end (only one piece today).  
> PS. It has been brought to my attention that people are finding it difficult/annoying, skipping between the main text and the translations. I will mention that this is because Obi-Wan is still learning the language and won't be able to translate all of it, but if this bothers people, please let me know and I may start incorporating the translations in the text itself.

It had been just over a week since the meeting in the throne room. Obi-Wan had almost fully recovered, though he still had a few bruises, and he'd finally been able to take a look at the building's blue-prints.

As he'd expected, there were several hidden corridors, all of which he immediately took note of, and altered several guard patrol routes accordingly. There were still a few pieces missing, but it was significantly better than before and, as he'd promised, he brought this up with the Duchess as soon as he'd discovered the fault.

However, when the Councillor was confronted, it turned out that it had been no fault of his own. The plans themselves were damaged, and it was unclear whether or not it had been an accident, as Borri had not touched them for several months.

This had made things immediately very tense. Not only did they have gaps in their system, but they may have also had a Slicer purposely remove these areas of mapping for a malignant cause or employer, and have these, likely, vital pieces of information. And on top of the regular every day protection, Obi-Wan had to take a council meeting that had been scheduled into account.

He had a few more allies to consult now though, if not exactly friends.

After finding the gap in his security, Councillor Talis had been much more complacent with information, offering anything that could help, only to find yet more missing files.

It was a breach, and a significantly worrying one at that. Obi-Wan had highly suggested that they leave. Satine had agreed, but only _after_ her meeting; it was an important conference discussing the state of the planet's supply numbers, and she would _not_ postpone it.

Much to his surprise, it was the Jedi that had helped him the most after this revelation. It was obvious the man didn't trust him, but he was making an effort to work with Obi-Wan, which, while a little uncomfortable, was very much welcome.

The room in which the meeting was to be held was thoroughly searched, through manual labour, and through the Force (neither Obi-Wan or Jinn trusting the other's methods above their own) and neither of them had found anything wrong.

However, when the day had finally arrived, Obi-Wan couldn't help but feel something was wrong.

"I don't sense anything," the Jedi had said when he'd told him, "Perhaps these… instincts… of yours are wrong."

He shook his head. "They're never wrong. Something's going to happen, I just don't know what."

Qui-Gon had frowned at him then, perplexed by his conviction, but slowly nodded. "I will keep an eye out for anything unusual then."

That had been almost an hour ago now, and the feeling was still there. If anything, it had only increased in its insistence, and it made him jumpy. His hand had barely left his pistol since the doors had closed, and he was constantly watching the strangers who had been called for the conference from his place a few stood a few steps behind the Duchess.

"Yes, but I don't understand why other citizens have more right to their basic needs than others," Satine was saying, "Surely everyone should have an equal chance to be fed and have proper medical supplies!"

"I can understand the principle, Your Grace," one of the strangers – Obi-Wan had dubbed him Green for the emerald robe he wore – countered, "but it's simply not possible with the number of resources we have."

"So you suggest we just… keep them all for ourselves?"

"No, no, of course not! Just…" Green paused, looking at several of the others at the table, "We are at war. Sacrifices must be made if we want to win."

"And the lives of innocents are a worthy sacrifice?"

Obi-Wan let his eyes wander as the proceedings continued, fairly certain that none of the members of the meeting were trying to assassinate the Duchess, and sure that one of the guards would be able to react in time to prevent anything from happening.

"Lives are never a worthy sacrifice," Green was saying as Obi-Wan examined the walls, "but it's a necessary one."

"I will not let my people starve!"

"But they will if you continue to spread our rations so thinly!" exclaimed Shoulder-Pads (named for obvious reasons). "If we continue to aid everyone, then we won't have enough to last us a month!"

Obi-Wan's gaze paused on the Jedi for a moment, who was watching the proceedings in silent interest, though looked otherwise unoccupied. He was probably 'focusing on the Force', or whatever he'd called it. Whatever it was he was doing, Obi-Wan hoped that it worked.

"So you want me to let the people you deem 'less important' die? Where is the humanity in that?"

Councillor Talis sighed. "I know this does not sound amenable, but it's a necessary evil. We have to-"

Obi-Wan stopped paying attention to what was being said as the feeling that something was wrong suddenly spiked. He looked around the room, frantically searching for the source, the reason behind this sudden worry, but there was nothing. He couldn't see…

There was a flashing light, red, growing steadily faster and faster, set under the Duchess's seat. No, it was set on the ceiling of the room directly below, and if the way it was speeding up was any indication then; "Bomb!" he shouted, running to Satine and the rest of them, who had stopped talking at his shout, "Everybody out!"

Obi-Wan pulled the Duchess out of her seat and across the room while the rest of the table remained frozen. "Move! There's a-"

For the second time in as many weeks, he was thrown through the air, only this time it was with the heat of an explosion at his back. He instinctively curled protectively around Satine's body, protecting her from the shards of crystal that shot in their direction.

Burning. Something buried itself in the side of his ribs. He hissed at the heat almost boiled his skin. Something snapped across the plate of armour strapped to his back.

They landed on the floor, hard, and Obi-Wan felt his shoulder pop when they landed, Satine rolling out of his arms in the next moment. There wasn't time for pain now though. He pushed himself up on his good arm and shuffled over to his charge as she rose to her hands and knees.

"My Lady, Satine, are you alright?" he asked, looking her over with a critical eye. Beyond a few cuts, she looked fine, but he wouldn't know for certain until later.

"Yes," she replied, "Yes I'm… Oh Stars…"

Obi-Wan frowned, and then followed her line of sight over his shoulder.

There was screaming. Blood flecked the floor, pooled around lifeless bodies. Splinters lay scattered on the remaining ground. No one was left standing.

The room was in chaos. Where the table had once been was now a hole, leading directly to the floor below. The bodies of several members of the meeting, including Councillor Talis's, lay still and broken at the edges of the room, or buried in the rubble below. Green was clutching at his side from where he was leaning against a wall, eyes wide as he stared at the new crater. Several of the guards were recovering, and a few were trying to move rubble from over someone who was proclaiming their presence very loudly.

Qui-Gon was the only one who didn't look completely shocked. He was crouched, and holding the youngest of the meeting in his arms – a young woman who looked thoroughly shaken – and a hand outstretched. Several projectiles still hovered in the air in front of him, and his face was stern and unforgiving as he turned to look at the ceiling.

"Everybody out!" the man shouted, dropping the debris and pulling his lightsabre from his belt, "We're under attack!"

Not a moment later, the roof shattered in a second blast, sending yet more shards blasting into the room. Obi-Wan dove over Satine, keeping her covered, and biting his lip when he put too much weight on his damaged arm.

More screams tore through the air.

Figures dressed in blue and red baskar'gam began dropping through the new hole, jet packs cushioning their landing. They were silent, only pointing and gesturing as any sign of communication.

The Jedi's blade activated, and he pushed the woman behind him as he moved towards Obi-Wan and the Duchess.

"We have to move," he said, deflecting several blaster shots, "Is there a safe house?"

Satine nodded as she rose, Obi-Wan shortly behind her, holding his arm to his chest. "We have to get to the hanger."

"I've got the lead," Obi-Wan said, pulling one of his pistols from his belt, "Jinn, you keep them off us."

Qui-Gon frowned at him, an emotion shockingly close to worry crossing his features, but nodded, ushering the woman forwards as Obi-Wan stepped in front of Satine and into the corridor.

The hallway was as chaotic as the meeting room; strangers – the insurgency Obi-Wan assumed – were fighting the guards in fire-fights and hand to hand, servants were either running about or cowering in corners, and the building rocked and shook occasionally as explosions went off in or near the building.

Blaster shots came startlingly close as one of the invaders noticed them, forcing Obi-Wan to push the others back as he returned fire. The man crumpled to the floor, dead, when one of his shots hit. Satine gasped in shock at the sight, but Obi-Wan had no time to worry. He'd killed before, but now he was just doing it for a better reason than just money.

Unable to keep her close physically, Obi-Wan had to put his trust in Qui-Gon to keep everyone moving. He needed to get everyone to the hanger as quickly as possible. If the explosions were anything to go by, the building wasn't going to remain standing for much longer.

More of the intruders fell to his blaster as they swerved and dodged through the corridors and rooms, and they passed more bodies of guards and civilians alike. All Obi-Wan could do was hope that it wouldn't be one of his friends hidden under one of the helmets.

Somehow, they made it to the hanger and found another battle waging within. Guards were fighting to keep the intruders from the vehicles; speeders and ships alike. Several of the transports were smoking, and Obi-Wan had no doubt that they could blow at any moment.

"Obi-Wan!"

The young man blinked at the familiar voice, and turned to find one of the guards running at him.

"Mavaar?"

Rus'ur's friend grinned at him, though his eyes were still hidden behind the helmet. "We've managed to keep them away from your Rigger! Take the Duchess and go!"

"But this place is gunna blow at any second! Mavaar, you've got to-"

Qui-Gon stepped forward at this point, pushing the woman and Satine with him, both of whom looked stunned. "We must go now, or we will miss our chance."

Obi-Wan bit his lip, looking between Satine, Qui-Gon and Mavaar, before nodding. "Come on, it's just over here."

Mavaar took a moment to grasp Obi-Wan by the shoulder and smiled. "Re'turcye mhi, vod.*"

Stunned, all he could do was nod in reply before he led everyone towards the western wing of the Hanger, the journey taking more time than he would have hoped. Satine was almost clinging to his side now, and though it was comforting to know she was close, it made it difficult to keep her safe.

He charged into his ship, jumping into the pilot seat as fast as he could, only to hear a scream from behind him as he raised the ramp, followed by a soft thump. Looking over his shoulder through the open door, all he could do was stare at the figure collapsed on the floor, and the blue, armoured woman, smirking into the ship as he steered the ship away, just minutes before the building collapsed in a large explosion.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Re'turcye mhi, vod. – Goodbye, brother.


	10. Meg ganar gar narir?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the run, Obi-Wan must decide what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry about all the delays for this chapter! I AM still writing this, the next chapter's been started, but I will admit that publishing these chapters WILL BE SLOW!!! I have, unfortunately, fallen out of love with Star Wars, and though it still holds my interest, it's not as life consuming as it had been when I first started. This is why I will be slow when it comes to updating, BUT I WILL NOT STOP WRITING. Especially if you guys keep sending me your amazing reviews!  
> Now that I've told you all that... I would like to thank [Callum John](http://nerdemic.co.uk/) and [Gem_Gem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem) once again for helping me plan this story and keep me writing, and [Pica Britanica](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/3207672/) for beta reading the chapter! Also, as I'm sure many of you know, Britain had its referendum yesterday and the result is that we are leaving the EU, so that might delay chapters a bit too (so sorry!!!!).  
> Mando'a translations at the end as always. PLEASE tell me if you are okay with this layout or not, as I can change it if necessary!

Obi-Wan had to fight to control his ship, the shockwave of the blast affecting the flight path for several moments, and a heat wave hit the back of his head through the still open door. He pushed a button on the console to close the hatch, but he refused to look back to see if it had been damaged or not.

The scream was still ringing in his ears, the face dancing just before his eyes, even as he wove through the streets, further and further away from the disaster zone. He would not allow himself to see his failure, see the body that was sure to be waiting for him.

The ship shook as a blast hit the shields he'd somehow managed to raise, pulling him out of his thoughts. There was no time for them; it wasn't over yet.

He took evasive action, weaving in and out of the buildings, watching streams of light pass by the windows and hit crystallised building, sending showers of shards into the streets below. A speeder came into view, and Obi-Wan rammed the Rigger into it, sending it spiralling. He watched with a grim satisfaction as it landed in a cloud of fire and smoke.

Suddenly, Qui-Gon was there, pulling down the periscope and firing back at the Insurgent fighters. Obi-Wan turned more of his concentrations towards flying as the Jedi began shooting their pursuers out of the sky. He hoped that the falling scraps wouldn't hit anyone, but he knew better than that. So many people would die today, had they not already, and he wondered who the people would blame.

"I think that's the last of them," the Jedi said, still looking through the periscope.

Obi-Wan nodded. "Good. I'll find a place to land. We need to ditch the ship. They might be tracking us."

"Good call."

It didn't take him long to find a space big enough to land in, but it took him several moments to leave his seat once he did. His knuckles were white against the controls as he struggled to find the strength to leave, to confront the thing he feared. He didn't want to look, but he had to. Taking one more deep breath, he tore himself away from the console, and exited the cockpit.

The sight that greeted him was not the one he expected.

Satine was kneeling over the prone form of the young woman Qui-Gon had dragged with them from the meeting. He hadn't noticed it before, but the woman and Satine looked startlingly similar; they had the same pale hair, wore similar colours, had the same shade of blue in their eyes. The only differences were the way they'd held themselves… and that the nameless woman was now dead, and Satine was not.

He stared at her for several seconds, trying to hold back the cry of joy that was welling up in her throat. She was alive. She was _alive_! But she was upset, in shock. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the woman before her, and that was dangerous.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Obi-Wan moved over to the Jedi, who was waiting for him at the top of the ramp.

"You need to get her out," Obi-Wan said, "There are a few emergency packs I need to get."

Jinn nodded at him and moved over to the Duchess, but Obi-Wan turned away before he reached her. He still had a job to do, and he was going to do it.

The emergency packs were easy enough to find – for people who knew where they were at least – but more difficult to transport with one arm. He should have thought of that before, but it was too late now, and he was running out of time.

He heaved two of the backpacks he'd found onto his back, hissing at the weight on his damaged shoulder, simply holding the last with his good hand and stuffing some weaponry and first aid packages inside it. By the time he had gathered everything, the Jedi had managed to pull the Duchess out of the craft, leaving the woman lying on the floor.

Obi-Wan hated that he had to do this sort of thing, but the living were more important than the dead, and they had no time.

Stepping past the body, the young man approached the pair who were waiting for him at the bottom of the ramp. Qui-Gon immediately pulled the bag that was on his bad shoulder onto his own, causing Obi-Wan to groan once more at the shift in weight.

"We need to fix that arm of yours," Qui-Gon said with a frown.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Not now. We have to get to safety first."

The Jedi looked like he wanted to argue, but Obi-Wan walked past him to Satine, who was still staring at the woman's body.

"Duchess," he said, keeping a careful eye one the air traffic.

She started, only now noticing that he had joined her. "Obi-Wan?"

He nodded. "Satine, I need you to carry this for me." He dropped the bag he was holding and held out the one that had been on his shoulder. "Can you do that?"

"What? I…"

"Satine," he repeated, more firmly this time, "Can you carry this for me?"

She looked down at the bag for a few moments before slipping it onto her back in silence.

"Thank you," Obi Wan said, shouldering the last bag again, "Now, we need to leave. The Insurgency could be here at any minute. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"Good." Obi-Wan looked around, trying to get a grasp of where they were, but he didn't have enough experience outside of the Councillor's home to discern anything. "Now, you said that you knew a safe house?"

She nodded again. "It's… it's on the other side of the city."

Obi-Wan frowned at how hollow her voice was and held her cheek in his hand. "Satine."

She blinked at him, eyes shadowed by grief and emotional turmoil.

"Satine!"

She blinked again, coming back into focus. "What?"

Obi-Wan sighed in relief. "I need you to show us where we could find a vehicle."

The Duchess pulled back, looking around carefully before her eyes fell on a large, wide building several hundred yards away. "Follow me."

Satine led her two guards off of the roof and into what appeared to be an apartment building from a door set into the floor. Many of the patrons they found inside were too busy watching the cloud of smoke that was billowing from where they had come to notice them passing, but one or two of them did. Several cried in relief, and a few even reached out to touch Satine as she passed, but one or two were not so enthralled.

"Bic b _Kaysh_!*" one of them said, pointing at Satine as they passed, her tone harsh and accusing, "Meg ganar gar narir?*"

Several others started mumbling in protest as well, but the three had already passed and continued down the stairs.

"They don't sound very happy," Qui-Gon commented quietly as they continued to descend.

Satine sighed forlornly. "By coming here, we have endangered the lives of everyone in this building. No doubt they have understood that, and are already looking to blame me for anything that will happen."

"They'll probably have to evacuate," Obi-Wan agreed, being careful not to brush up against anything in case it agitated his wounds. He knew he could hold it together until they reached safety, but there was no need to push his luck.

They managed to exit the building soon after, and without further incident, though that was probably due to the fact that the last floors the passed through were relatively empty. The reason for this soon became clear when they found the walkway between the apartment and the wider building they were heading for, full of spectators.

Obi-Wan swore under his breath. If the people on the walkway were anything like those inside, they could recognise any one of them in moments, and he could only imagine what would happen then. He'd never found himself anything other than proud when he wore the beskar'gam, but now he was afraid of what it would bring upon them.

Satine didn't seem to have any such worries, weaving her way through the crowd, being careful to keep her face ducked away from view, and Obi-Wan was forced to follow, the Jedi close behind.

Somehow, they managed to almost reach the end before someone noticed.

"Gar!" someone in the crowd – a woman probably in her mid-thirties – said, grabbing his wounded arm, "Gar cuyir solus be Dehi'r b aran, cuyir va gar?*"

Obi-Wan hissed, clutching at his shoulder automatically. "Elek.*"

"Miak tion'jor cuyir gar olar? Gar hwa cuyir gaa'tayl kaysh!"

Obi-Wan swallowed. "Ni cuyir.*"

The woman looked past him at Satine, who was still dodging her way through the crowd, and sighed in relief; "Mar'e.*"

"Ni cuyir hiibir jate jurda sra kaysh,*" he reassured her, but instead of smiling, she frowned.

"Aruetii?*" The grip on his arm tightened, causing him to wince. "I hear you bring harm to Duchess, you be sorry."

Obi-Wan blinked unsure how he had given himself away, but he nodded in return. "If I bring her to harm, then my honour is lost."

The woman examined his eyes for several long moments before nodding in satisfaction. "Go. Must leave now."

He nodded in return, quickly moving to catch up with the others, who were waiting for him just past the edge of the crowd. Jinn was frowning.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

Obi-Wan gave him a one-shouldered shrug. "Concerned citizen."

That seemed to confuse him a little, but he just shook his head and continued walking, leaving both Obi-Wan and the Duchess to follow behind. She was watching him more carefully now though, and noticed the way he was cradling his arm.

"Did that happen in the blast?" she asked.

He frowned at her. "Huh?"

"Your arm," she said, pointing at it, then moving her finger to his side, "And you're bleeding."

He looked down at himself, touching his side carefully and found a warm, sticky red substance covering his fingers.

He sighed. "We'll sort it out later. No time."

She looked reluctant, but inevitably agreed. Though no one had arrived yet, it would only be a matter of time before the Insurgency found them.

It turned out that the building Satine had led them to was a shopping centre, and as such, had a hanger in the lower levels. Though she was loathe to do so, she agreed that it would be the best place to find transportations.

Obi-Wan selected a fairly old craft, a small, green thing with a roof that seemed to be one of the more popular makes of repulsorlift craft on the planet. He would have taken the driver's seat, but Satine insisted that he rested, and he was forced to lie in the back.

"Make sure you drive slowly," Obi-Wan told them as he made himself comfortable, "Follow the air roads around the city to where we need to go. We-"

"Hush, Obi-Wan," Satine interrupted, "Master Qui-Gon knows what he's doing, I'm sure. Now you need to rest."

"I can rest after-"

"Obi-Wan," the Jedi snapped, bringing the bodyguard's attention to him, "Do you not think that I will be capable of fulfilling my duty?"

"No, but-"

"Then you must stop worrying. You are wounded, and you need to recover your strength. _Sleep_."

Obi-Wan blinked at him, hearing the command echo though his head. "No. You… stop."

" _Sleep_ ," Jinn repeated, and Obi-Wan couldn't help the yawn that suddenly attacked, his eyes drooping.

"Stop," he muttered, "I don't… I can't…" Something heavy was draped over him, and his helmet was removed by blurred hands, and he tried to fight to stay awake.

" _Sleep_ ," Jinn said again, and this time, Obi-Wan was unable to resist, and fell into a light slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Bic b Kaysh! – It's her!  
> * Meg ganar gar narir? – What have you done?  
> * Gar! Gar cuyir solus be Dehi'r b aran, cuyir va gar? – You! You're one of the Duchess's guards, aren't you?  
> * Elek – Yes  
> * Miak tion'jor cuyir gar olar? Gar hwa cuyir gaa'tayl kaysh! – Then why are you here? You should be helping her!  
> * Ni cuyir – I am  
> * Mar'e. – expression of relief (lit. 'At last')  
> * Ni cuyir hiibir jate jurda sra kaysh. – I am take good care of her.  
> * Aruetii? – Outsider?


End file.
